


The Roadie of Zero

by FergardStratoavis



Category: Brütal Legend, ゼロの使い魔 | Zero no Tsukaima | The Familiar of Zero
Genre: Each Chapter Named After A Song, Gen, Heavy Metal, Other Metals As Well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 95,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FergardStratoavis/pseuds/FergardStratoavis
Summary: A failed summoning spell grants Louise an opportunity for education; that being getting to know the glory of Heavy Metal. With her black-wearing, guitar-strumming Familiar; a maid's odd propensity for bass and the war looming on the horizon, Helkeginia will change. For better or worse, that remains to be seen.





	1. Welcome to the Age of Helkeginia

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings. I am a fumbling fanfic writer who used to (and still is) occupy FF.net. I've been advised to move here for a variety of reasons, and so I figured that giving it a shot couldn't hurt. With me I bring the fic that's probably the least bad in terms of technical ability. Whether that applies to the contents as well remains to be seen. 
> 
> Simple enough story: "Louise summons an X" had been a mainstay of ZnT fanfics for quite some time. X is the Best Roadie to Walk the Earth, because I was in a strange mood at the time of writing this. From here things are likely to just go somewhere wild, since I'm not a man to plan ahead all that much. Writing by the seat of my pants is the name of the game.
> 
> I hope this story entertains someone out there enough that they'd be willing to see more of it, and that I didn't mess up the tags or anything like that. All this is still a bit daunting to me. For now however, let us get on with it.

_“I associate heavy metal with fantasy because of the tremendous power that the music delivers” – Christopher Lee_

_****_

Deep within the confines of Tristain’s Academy of Magic, a maid dreamed of greatness, of pillars of flame and thunderstorms that shook the world just like they would shake a ship out in the sea. Everybody dreamed, of course; it was meaningless if they were the highest of nobles or the lowest of the low. Some saw hidden meaning between the deer they have hunted and the cliffs they fell off. Others took their dreams at face value. Many a lord and baron have foiled the assassination attempts at their persons just because they were already once slain.

Dreams carried a grand meaning, even if the things within Siesta’s were unknown to her. Things that looked like lutes and zithers, but sleeker and with sharper edges. Carriages of metal and flame that propelled themselves with no assistance from beasts of burden, by strange magic. Men and women of strangest proportions – some stocky and muscled, others gaunt and eerily sickly. There were demons too; their apparel nothing short of scandalous and off-putting. Through all this resonated a music unknown to Helkeginians; perhaps even to the elvenkind. It was rough, strong and bombastic; in a way no orchestra could achieve. It carried the strength of Metal, the passion of Fire, the trueness of Blood and the volume of Noise most glorious.

Her grandfather – a tall man who dressed himself in black leathers – called it “Heavy Metal”. It seemed like a silly name to call a genre of music with to Siesta back then, and even now she wondered if there were others to call it with. She could think of a few: Dragon’s Roar, Minotaur’s Battle Cry, Triumphant March of the Victorious. Of course, as an ever-inquisitive granddaughter she once asked why call it like her grandfather called it. As he explained it, it was simple enough for everybody to understand. No one in her sleepy village of Tarbes had heard a dragon roaring, nor did they ever have to repel invading bullmen. Everybody, however, held something heavy and metal in their hands at least once; be it a length of blade, a piece of armor or even a simple rusted bucket.

Metal was strong and stalwart; and if it was heavy, one would need a deal of strength themselves to carry it… but again, everybody had once carried something of that essence. By his own admission, he was poor at explaining the concepts of his people – for he came from a distant place, far far away from Tristain – but it made a degree of sense to Siesta. Point was, Heavy Metal was the music of the people, regardless of class differences, regardless of wealth, of their status. It could inspire the most demoralized of armies, grant hope to those in despair, push ones at the vanguard to achieve deeds of great renown.

Her parents thought little of it, dismissing her grandfather’s stories as ramblings of a man long past his prime, something to fill in the void after the death of Siesta’s grandmother, who departed from this world before her birth. Out of all her siblings, it seemed the now-maid at the Academy was the one most enthused about the grandfather’s exploits and tales. At his deathbed, he granted her his most precious of possessions – the oddly-shaped guitar that never left his side. It produced a pleasant murmur of a sound that soothed one’s nerves and calmed the mind. She didn’t have much time to practice playing it now that her duties demanded her constant attention, but every once in a blue moon, once everybody would sleep, she would tune it and strum it, caressing it with the same gentleness one would caress a newborn infant. It was, after all, her grandfather’s legacy, and it would be most untoward to damage it.

And sometimes… she would hear from other staff or the students, marveling at the smooth sound carrying through the Academy. Some attributed it to the Headmaster Osmond, the old sage killing time with gentle tunes of an instrument, be it magical or otherwise. Others thought that it was the known Casanova of the school, Guiche du Gramont, trying to woo yet another fair lady with one of his many talents. Some – and those spoke in hushed whispers – even talked of a bound spirit that tried to communicate with the world of the living, lamenting its sorrow through the hauntingly beautiful melody.

“If only they knew”, Siesta thought to herself with a small smile, hiding the guitar under her bed, where it rested safely. A rumble of an explosion in the distance would alarm her a year back or so, but these were almost a regular occurrence by now; the doing of one Louise Françoise le Blanc De la Vallière, also known as Louise the Zero among the student body. This malicious misnaming stemmed from just that – her inability to cast any form of magic. All attempts simply ended with explosions – which in Siesta’s opinion was kind of impressive, honestly – earning her a lot of ire and disapproval among her peers. It was a shame, too; at the risk of sounding selfish, Louise was also one of the few nobles at school that treated her or the other stuff with any modicum of respect. With how her education went, it probably was only a matter of time before she would be forced to leave the Academy, regardless of the strength her family name carried.

Today was the day of the Springtime Familiar Summoning; a ceremony conducted by the second-years during which they would summon and a bind a familiar to their will. Seen as extensions of a Mage’s will, these animals and beasts helped students in their endeavors, shielded them from harm and represented their good name. If there was any point of no return for the young Vallière, it would be now. Failure to summon even the most basic of familiars would no doubt exhaust the Academy’s goodwill with her. That was how Siesta saw it.

At the same time, something told her that despite everything Louise would succeed this day. Any success, no matter how paltry, would keep her within the walls of the school. What Siesta didn’t expect was the thunderous, distorted roar shortly after the explosion. The Dragon’s Roar.

Against her better judgment, she rushed out of her room and headed for where the Familiar Summoning was taking place.

****

If somebody had told Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière that she would despair at a spell going off right for once in her life before the Springtime Familiar Summoning, she would surely decry them as a madman. And yet… here she was.

It all began innocently enough. Not wanting to become a center of attention, she stood off to the side and let others summon their familiars first. The blond fop summoned a mole; fitting for an Earth Mage. The lascivious Germanian strumpet summoned a salamander; no small feat. The quiet bookworm from Gallia did one better and summoned a rhyme dragon. There was plenty of variety between the familiars.

For the tiniest of moments, Louise believed that she might slip through the class unnoticed. “Now then, has anyone not summoned their Familiar yet?” Called the voice of the teacher, one Jean Colbert.

“There’s still Zero, professor.” The red-haired hussy, Kirche Augusta Frederica von Anhalt-Zerbst, crooned, arousing a number of snickers among the class. The pinkette shrank a little in her spot. “Granted, perhaps it’s for the best she doesn’t try, or someone might get hurt in yet another explosion~”

“That is enough, Miss Zerbst.” Colbert replied sternly, a steel look quickly silencing any dismissive giggles. “Miss Vallière, if you please.”

“Y-yes, professor…” Well, there went an attempt at trying to hide in the crowd. So far not much had came out of her education at the Academy; whatever magic she attempted it would end up with a bang and yet another wave of jeers. No. Not this time. This time she would dazzle them all with the grandeur of her spell. By Brimir’s balls, she was a Vallière, daughter of Karin the Heavy Wind, the most powerful Wind Mage in Tristain’s recent history! Scratch that, in the recent history of all Helkeginian Kingdoms! Her father was an accomplished Mage as well, and so were her elder sisters.

She would succeed, or else the label of Zero would stick to her like leprosy. She was enough of an embarrassment to her family as it was. Failing the summoning would just cinch it. Taking a deep breath, she began chanting.

The strange discordant tones suddenly rumbling in her head she dismissed as stress. “My servant, that exists somewhere in this vast universe! My beautiful, strong, splendid servant! I am Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière, calling from the bottom of my heart. By the Pentagon of Five Elemental Powers, heed my call and answer my summoning!”

The very moment Louise’s wand moved and her chant finished, the Academy was rattled with the explosion not yet seen. The sheer scale, the volume, the raw power… Colbert did a wise thing creating the fire wall between the summoning circle and the curious students. Despite that, quite a few of them were bowled away nevertheless in various states of disarray; the Gallian bookworm thought the same thing with her hastily-conjured wall of ice. Her familiar was quick on the uptake too, shielding students and familiars alike with its wings.

Miraculously, it appeared that Louise herself was unharmed beyond the minor damage to her hair and uniform. She was however stuck in an expression that wasn’t sure if it was meant to portray unbridled horror, pure shock or bitter disappointment. All three, probably. Frozen like a statue, she stared at the clouds of dust and debris slow to disperse. Of course, there was no real need for them to disperse. If anything, she begged they would take their sweet time. Either she failed the summoning or, worse, she did just kill her familiar in the ensuing explosion. Both of these notions were horrifying, one more than the other, but the conclusion was the same. She _was_ a Zero, after all.

The courtyard exploded a moment later, though this time it was only metaphorically. Brimir’s balls, Louise’d rather it would blow up to smithereens instead.

“Are you _trying_ to kill us, Zero?!”

“Told you this would happen! You owe me twenty Écu!”

“Just give it up, Zero! You’re a lost cause!”

“Maybe she’s not even a Noble at all, but some Upstart Commoner?!”

Colbert was about to break up this frankly cruel string of insults before something else brought everybody else’s attention: a sharp, distorted sound from the epicenter of the explosion. It worked wonders; not only did everybody’s attention was at the summoning circle, Louise snapped out of her stupor as the disappointment and shock gave way to – currently cautious – optimism. So she _did_ summon something, after all! She wasn’t a Zero! Now  to see just what she had summoned…

A voice called out from the dust cloud. Male, fairly deep, and-wait, wait a second. Did she summon a _talking_ familiar?! That… that was incredible! Just what kind of splendid creature did she summon?! The faint murmur from behind, from her peers, was one of admiration too, admiration and disbelief. Serves them right, undermining her efforts at every step! The one problem Louise noticed was that the words her familiar spoke were not of any language she knew. Perhaps the beast was from so far away that it did not speak Helkeginian languages?

Then, however, the smoke had finally dissipated and Louise’s heart sank.

Her familiar… was human. He was tall and broad-shouldered – more of a Germanian barbarian than a Tristanian knight – with long black hair falling on his shoulders and a small patch of hair likely meant to be a beard. Dressed in black and in a fashion that Louise wouldn’t attribute even to a commoner, he carried both a double-edged axe and a strange long lute on his back.

…she didn’t just summon a commoner. She summoned a _filthy Germanian skald_. Just sort of staring blankly at the man she was supposed to deal with for the entirety of her stay at the Academy – and then further ahead in life – Louise didn’t register the man speaking again. The jeers came back in full force, and each got to her more than the last. She might have not seen it, but the man’s brows furrowed at what was a pretty clear-cut case of bullying. He pointed at Colbert and spoke – in a heavily accented Albionian – his mind on the matter. “Crassly, but truly”, the professor observed grimly as he turned his attention to the jeering crowd.

“I said that’s enough.” He spoke in a tone of absolute authority, voice cold as ice; completely at odds with his runic name of Flame Serpent. “Regardless of whom Miss Vallière has just summoned, this gives neither of you any right to make light of her success. Miss Zerbst, Miss Montmorency, I will be seeing the two of you after this class.” He gestured at the two forebearers of the jeers, much to their apparent surprise and paleness. “I will not tolerate any further bullying. Now…” Colbert looked at the summoned man – who gave a begrudging nod, mighty arms folded on his chest – and then at Louise, his voice turning softer. “Miss Vallière, please bind your familiar.”

“What? Y-yes, of course…” Her first instinct was to deny, to ask for another go. A commoner as a familiar? _Her_ familiar? Why, it almost felt more embarrassing than if she just summoned nothing at all. Already was her mother disappointed with her progress. To show this hairy boor, let alone at the familiar exhibition, as her own? She’d rather just combust on the spot.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. “Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers, bless this…” She looked up at the man grimly. “humble being, and make him my familiar.” Now was the hard part; kissing the Brimir-damned barbarian. It wasn’t even the fact she didn’t feel particularly inclined to do it; the man was truly a mountain of muscle she wouldn’t reach even when standing on her tiptoes. With an authoritative frown, she gestured for the skald to lean down. The faint amusement on the man’s face only served to agitate Louise further, but at least he understood that much and did as ordered. “Stupid commoner… you should consider yourself lucky.” She grumbled as they now faced each other. The man was pretty handsome, she had to admit that, but he was still a filthy Germanian skald. Besides, she had a betrothed already.

Summoning her courage she closed in for a ceremonial kiss, but then there was a big Germanian hand right in front of her, stopping her advance. “H-hey! Unhand me, you foul dog! How dare you mistreat a noble like that?!” The man, not as bothered about a pink-haired snot sputtering indignantly in French as he thought he would be, looked up at Colbert and asked another question. The teacher replied accordingly, causing Louise’s familiar to grouse with displeasure before he shook his head and let go off his new… Master, apparently. Oh boy. Try explaining that to folks back home, once he got home.

If. “Are you done throwing a fit, you lousy commoner mongrel? Good. Now hold still…” The pinkette grumbled before sealing the contract with a simple kiss. The Familiar runes thus etched themselves onto the left arm of one Eddie Riggs, the savior of the Age of Metal, the half-demon slayer of demons and the asskicker extraordinaire.

Though nobody present in the room could have known this, Helkeginia was about to change radically; and it would do so with a thundering applause of Heavy Metal.

****

Siesta did not know who the man Louise had just summoned as her familiar was, but something in her heart fluttered with joy. She could not place it anywhere, but somehow… somehow things would be okay now.


	2. Roadie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All following chapters will be called after some song that I've found particularly inspiring for the writing of thereof. I hope you can bear with this little quirk of mine. I figured it would be funny.

With this stupid summoning ritual out of the way – seriously, what kind of summoning involved kissing the thing you just called upon from another world? What if someone summoned something really super icky, like an undead or one of those D&D jelly things? – it was time to start asking questions, and it was becoming increasingly clear that nobody spoke any normal language in… wherever the hell Eddie was now. Sure as hell wouldn’t be the little pink snot trying to order him around – even if, apparently, she was the one that summoned him – in her shrill French.

She was quite obviously the runt of the litter – not just in terms of stature, but also when it came down to her status in class – and the other kids were giving her hell. Apparently summoning the best roadie to have ever stopped a demon invasion wasn’t good enough for those. Granted, one didn’t have to be a genius to guess it was nowhere familiar for him. A quick look over other familiars revealed a plethora of animals and beasts. He might have looked a little underwhelming from that perspective to the pink snot.

“Okay, teach, first things first” The only person to talk any real language here was the teacher; a middle-aged baldy in glasses. His English was… weird, but Eddie couldn’t be a complainer in a situation like this. “Should these runes be burning like this?”

“Do not worry about it. The pain should go away soon enough.” Baldy replied with a nod. Alright, that made sense. Kind of like branding a cow.

“Second; does Gandálfr mean anything?” This time the teacher froze, eyes wide. “Okay. That can’t be good.”

“I beg your pardon, did you… did you say Gandálfr?” He asked cautiously, eyes glued to the roadie. Eddie frowned again; apparently the name was known among the student body as well. Some spoke in hushed whispers, others seemed surprised. This wasn’t the earlier surprise and amazement he had heard earlier. This time, they seemed afraid.

“That’s what the rune says.”

“How did you—“

“Studied rune alphabet when I was a kid. All the viking metal bands were using it like it was going out of style.” Eddie replied with a nonchalant shrug. The teacher only blinked in confusion. Right. This wasn’t home. This looked like, weird school uniforms aside, right in the middle of Middle Ages. “Don’t worry about it.”

“See, the problem is, if what you are saying is true, that is indeed very worrying.” The teacher said, rubbing his chin. The creases on his forehead spoke of concern. “Mr…”

“Eddie Riggs.”

“Mr. Riggs, are you… absolutely certain that’s what the rune says?” The roadie nodded once more, with absolute certainty. “I see… yes, that is eye-opening…” The little pink snot shrilled something to the teach, snapping him out of this grim focus. He replied in French, and on the spot the pinkette froze on the spot, fear evident in her eyes and snickers carrying among some of her peers. Then she pointed her little finger at Eddie and started screeching. Ugh. It was like listening to nu-metal; curious, exotic, but quickly wearing one’s nerves thin. The teacher calmed her down with a few choice words, but then the fear came back upon her.

“What did you tell her, teach?” Eddie asked, eyebrow raised in a question.

“Jean Colbert. As for what I have told Miss Vallière… I assured her she is not in trouble, at least as far as the school curriculum is concerned.” That didn’t sound like trouble at all. No sire. “After I’m done with the class, please come with me. I believe the Headmaster will want to hear about this.”

****

And so, once more did Louise end up at the entrance to the principal’s office.

Usually her visits here concerned whatever damages she inflicted upon the facility with yet another failed spell. Professor Colbert assured her that she is not in trouble, but judging by the sheer amount of distracted concern, something must have been amiss. Of course, her boorish hairy commoner familiar – ugh – treated this whole situation like nothing has happened. The nonchalance of this man! Was he not aware of the trouble he brought her? That was unbecoming of any servant, let alone a familiar!

He did say something worrying, something everybody present in that class could understand. “Gandálfr”. The Left Hand of God, the legendary familiar of Founder himself… but surely that couldn’t have been it. Even if this skald could somehow read runes, he could have just misread them entirely. After all, the Founder was a Void Mage, and the notion that she of all people could be in possession of the legendary fifth element; thought to be lost to the ages—

Wait. Wait a second. Louise jumped onto her feet, the revelation washing over her. That… that would explain everything! Every single one of her magical failures was not because she had no talent… but because she simply had no elemental aptitude the kind of which would be taught at the Academy!

“Someone’s excited.” The mutter from behind brought Louise back to reality as she swerved back. There was no one else in the corridor but her familiar. “…wait, did you get that?”

“I can understand you, yes.” Her brows furrowed for a moment. “Must be the Familiar binding. You’re lucky, in any case. I was meant to discipline you for your scathing lack of manners towards not just a Noble, but also your Master—“

“Okay, uh, first off? I don’t know how I got here, but that Master-Familiar bit won’t fly.” The hairy skald replied with a shake of his head. Louise could already feel the indignation turning her cheeks rosy. How dare he? “I’ve got a name, it’s Eddie. Or Edward, if you want to be official.”

“Hmph. Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière. Your name sounds more akin to a man of Albion than a Germanian skald.”

“And your name sounds like a mouthful. Anyway, I know none of the things you’ve mentioned.” Oh. Right. He must have been from far, far East where Germania’s rule over the land was in name only. Louise was willing to excuse his behavior this time; it seemed he simply was unaware of such things as social status and proper etiquette. She would have to educate him, a spellwand in one hand and a riding crop for discipline in the other.

“And back to the whole Familiar thing, look, I don’t take kindly to being branded like a cow for a burger.”

“How was I supposed to know I’d summon another human? And a commoner, at that?” Louise replied defensively.

“Geez, it really is the Middle Ages… okay, so can you or someone here send me back? I’ve got places to be.” This earned Edward the boorish hairy barbarian an incredulous look from the pink snot.

“Send you back? The familiar binding is for life.” Oh. Well, that was wonderful news. “You shouldn’t be making a fuss about it. It’s a great honor to be a Mage’s familiar!”

“Yeah, I don’t feel very honored about this. Lady, I need to go back, and “no” is not an answer.”

“Oh no, “no” is very much an answer, you boorish lout!” She stomped her little foot angrily. “You’re my first magical success ever since I learned to swing a wand! You… you can’t just go!”

“Pfft. Watch me.” And then, without further ado, he did just as he said he would; he rose, dusted himself off and began heading back. Louise, for lack of a better word, was completely flabbergasted, unable to find any reproachful word to reprimand her familiar with… or any word at all, really. Such was the degree of insolence presented before her, she was simply dumbstruck.

Before the boorish barbarian skald could leave for good however, the door to the Headmaster’s office moved wide open. “Please, Mr. Riggs, if you’d be so inclined as not to leave.” The voice of Colbert rang from the office. “I believe we have something that might interest you.”

“Oh neat, so I understand everybody’s French now.” For a moment, the boor seemed to be considering his options before he shrugged and turned right back. Meanwhile, the little master of the filthy barbarian managed to finally shake her stupor off and only shot him a dirty glare before pointedly marching right in front of him to make an entrance into the office first, as befitting someone of her status.

Gandálfr or not, she was his Master and that would not change.

****

The Headmaster Osmond – or “Old Osmond”, as he said everybody calls him – looked like a Gandalf. No, not a Gandálfr; a Gandalf. You know the type; old, wizened, wise, with a beard long enough to question its practical purposes. He even smoked a pretty kickass pipe, eyes idly scanning the runes on Eddie’s arm.

“There is no mistaking it.” He hummed, looking at Colbert and then at the two summoned here. “These are indeed the markings of Gandálfr. It does explain a few things about Miss Vallière’s… magic failures.”

“Hey, she summoned me in a giant explosion, so it’s not all that bad.” Eddie shrugged, idly twirling a cigarette between his fingers. “Oh yeah, mind if I smoke?”

“By all means. As for explosions… well, they are not supposed to normally happen.” Osmond replied, eyes curiously watching Eddie’s zippo sparking a flame to life and. Next to him, Louise was blushing with shame and embarrassment at the reminder of previous failures. “And that’s a fascinating device.”

“Thanks, dude. Been with me a long time, this girl.” The roadie chuckled, taking a puff of smoke.

“S-show some respect, you boor! You’re talking to the Headmaster of Tristain’s Academy of Magic!” This time, the pink snot bristled with indignation. Eddie was beginning to see patterns with her; not that it was particularly difficult. Violent outbursts like this one seemed to be the usual with Louise, though so far it was only bark and no bite. 

“Speaking of magic…” Colbert cut into the conversation. “With Mr. Riggs’ existence as a Gandálfr, that would make you, Miss Vallière… a Void Mage.” There it was; a confirmation. Somehow, Louise was not cheering for herself this time; perhaps the realization of all that implied finally reached her. A political nightmare, the Church taking interest…

“For safety reasons, it is better that the two of you do not make that fact public.” Osmond said almost as if mirroring her thoughts, fingers tented in thought. “Void Mages are considered a rarity, something tied intrinsically to our religion.”

“Like what, are Void Mages a bad thing?” Eddie asked. Louise was about to screech again before the old headmaster chuckled in a way the roadie could only describe as “suspicious”.

“That is what the one from your world said as well. Word for word, in fact.” For a moment, there was silence during which Osmond reached into the cupboard of his grand desk. Eddie looked over to where the pink snot was sitting – currently trying her best to imitate a fish out of water – and then over to the baldy Colbert.

To his mild surprise, it seemed he too was surprised.

“E-excuse me, but… “your world”? You mean… Headmaster, surely you aren’t implying that this boor of a Germanian skald is—“ Oh there was the pinkette again with her high-class posh insults.

“A man from another world altogether, yes. That is exactly what I am implying.” Osmond nodded absentmindedly, still focused on searching through his cupboard before he procured a simple pendant on a leather strap. It was made of metal and depicted a sword going through some vaguely A-shaped object. It looked well-made, if a little crude. Louise would wager it was a charm from barbaric East, a bauble people of small faith would wear to ward them from evil spirits.

“…holy crap.” Of course her boorish… fine, let’s call him a boorish barbarian from another world, figures he would be entranced by it. But no, “entranced” wouldn’t do it justice. Edward appeared to be truly surprised at the sight of the pendant. His boorish tobacco tube almost fell out of his mouth. “Where did you get this?”

“From a man who saved my life a long time ago.” Osmond replied absolutely seriously, putting the pendant on the desk. This… this was seriously getting out of hand! The rediscovery of herself as a Void Mage, a Gandálfr for a Familiar, a Gandálfr from _another world_ altogether… “Back when I was much younger and much more hot-blooded, a stranger came to my aid when I was fighting a dragon. He wore clothing like yours, spoke with the same flippant attitude and rode upon a steed of steel that belched fire from its back.”

“Did he throw firebombs as he went? Had a pickelhaube? You know, helmet with a spike on top?” The roadie asked, gesturing on top of his head to visualize the headwear in question. By Louise’s estimation, a helmet like that sounded nothing short of stupid, even as a ceremonial wear.

“Indeed. With his help we felled the dragon, though he died from the injuries he sustained shortly after. He bestowed upon me this pendant as a memento and asked that I bury him with his steed.” Osmond finished the tale with a nod. Yeah, it all checked out for Eddie.

“A Fire Baron goes down with his ride.” He muttered, idly smoking the cig. “Hasn’t changed for as long as I know ‘em. Anyway, I guess that tidbit we’ll have to keep ourselves too?”

“Ideally. For the time being, we will have to come up with a cover story…”

****

And so, much to Louise’s vexation, Eddie Riggs the boorish barbarian from another world became Ed the Germanian warrior. Some of that vexation came from a fact that the cover-up story wasn’t particularly… covering. Other part, of course, was being forced to endure snickers and jeers from her peers for summoning a “commoner” soon enough. Well, maybe Kirche will lay off her somewhat, if only because the man looked like just the type for that fire strumpet.

And there was still some satisfaction from passing by her and Montmorency looking like a pair of kicked puppies. Serves them right.

They walked through the Academy’s halls in silence, nonetheless attracting curious glances from the students and staff both. No doubt the news spread quickly at a place like this. It was a campus like any other, in the end.

“So what now? I guess I’m sticking with you for the time being.” Eddie hummed as they continued walking.

“How magnanimous of you, _familiar_.” Louise replied icily. “Are you as unruly with others as you are with me?”

“Hey, I already said I don’t take kindly to slavery, okay? It’s a sore point for me.”

“It’s _not_ slavery, you boor. It’s an honor to—“

“—be a Mage’s familiar. Yeah, you said that before and I didn’t buy it back then either.” Before the little pink snot could blow up at him again, Eddie raised his hand in a gesture of reconciliation. “Okay, fair enough, you didn’t mean to summon me.”

“No. I was hoping for a manticore, like my mother’s, or… anything else, really.” Though the tone of anger was unmistakable, there was something else behind her indignant expression. Shame? Sorrow? Must have related to her dubious record with magic.

“Okay, so a manticore would have been pretty badass, I’ll give you that. Anyway, I guess I’m used to being ordered around and stuff, what’s with being a roadie. Just… without the whole branding for life thing.” He replied with a slight shrug.

“A roadie? What is that?”

“Oh, it’s a guy who makes others look good.” Well, that was conveniently vague. Louise grumbled under her breath. “Okay, so do you have troubadours or something like that here?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Imagine that back in my place some of these troubadours are world-known. They have tours, tons of fans, play music that everybody has heard about.” Louise could see that, somewhat. “Music everybody has heard about” must have referred to nobility and perhaps some of the wealthier cityfolk, of course, who would afford such frivolous pleasantries. “Even if it’s shitty.”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, they sell whatever fits the widest public most. Usually that means a sappy song about love, or fucking, or getting money.” A grumble. “Usually all three. They will try and sell it under different names, but it’s always the same song and dance. Pop-rock, Rap-Pop, Third Wave of Gangsta Rap” Another, longer grumble. It must have been another sore point for her familiar, Louise thought. “Second Wave of American Tween Melodic Rap Metalcore…”

“And you said my name is a mouthful.” Eddie took the barb in good spirits, chuckling at Louise’s response. “Also, that sounds dumb.”

“I know, right? I had to roadie for those guys at some point. Can you imagine one of those punks smashing an instrument just for show? Someone else’s instrument, in fact?” Louise stopped and turned around to look at her familiar. It seemed petty and cruel to inflict wanton destruction upon another’s belongings for no point other than to prove it, but it was something else for him. Made sense it would resonate so well with a skald, or any other artist really. Barbarian or not, the strange sharp lute on his back spoke for itself.

He took the instrument off his shoulder, holding it in his giant arms with gentleness Louise would not suspect him of. “Clementine’s been through thick and thin with me, so I know how to bring her up to speed, but… it still hurts when you see her hurt.” Oh. He named his lute. Of course he named his lute. Something struck Louise; perhaps this boorish man was struggling with the same problems she was, even if the reasons were different. An outcast from the established order of things, struggling to find oneself in the world around them. He was taking it far better than her, of course, but… for the tiniest of moments, the pinkette  felt a measure of understanding with her familiar.

“Anyway, uh, sorry to ramble like that. That’s long in the past. Anyway, what’s our next stop?”

“Well, it is getting late, so I was thinking to retire for the night. Not before I find you a fitting room, however. A Familiar would normally sleep either outside or with its Master, but… well…”

“Oh. Oh yeah, that would be pretty bad.” Ophelia notwithstanding, sleeping in the same room with a man… give or take fifteen years older would lead itself to some pretty embarrassing gossip for Louise. Maybe she was no Zero now – even if she only summoned a “commoner” – but kids were cruel; they’d find anything to latch on if it meant someone else would be suffering for their amusement. “I can sleep wherever.”

“I’ll see about arranging a servant cot for you. Should not be too troublesome.” Well, at least they were getting some sort of understanding going on. Louise offered a smile of goodwill; something that no doubt cost her a lot of pride. “And… for all it is worth, I hope you can be a good fami… no, a good roadie for me as well.”

He could do that. He thought. A roadie’s job was to make someone else look good, be they a musician, a rebel army or… in this case, a small pinkette mage with an explosive temper. Could be a fun change of pace from the usual shenanigans of the Age of Metal. And, maybe, just maybe, he could bring some of Ormagoden’s blessings upon Helkeginia too.

After all, Heavy Metal was, as one of the Headbangers once wisely put it, “the pounding of Creation’s Hammer upon the Anvil of Time”, which was the most kickass description one could give to a genre of music, and Helkeginia would have its Metal.

From afar, a maid watched Lady Vallière and her most curious Familiar, unable to resist eavesdropping on the two, even as she went about her duties. Yes. This man was truly destined for legend. Siesta could not explain why. Perhaps it was the way he cradled his guitar; the same way she cradled her grandfather’s, or maybe something else entirely. Didn’t matter. She knew things would be alright.


	3. Tribute

This had to be a dream.

Louise was walking through the black; the only light in the darkness was the road ahead. It didn’t seem to be magical in nature, it just… glowed. There was nothing else to look at, ahead or behind her, but she wasn’t walking alone. For some reason, her childhood friend walked right beside her in her dress, tiara on top of her head as a symbol of authority.

They spoke with each other, but Louise could not remember the words or even the tone of her voice. Supposedly one couldn’t actually converse in their dreams. Perhaps that was why. They walked like this for a while. Not sure how long. There was something at the end of that road however. A beast. Not just any beast. Its name was on the tip of Louise’s tongue, despite the fact that this strange image she never saw in any book she had read or in any folk tale she had heard.

It was massive, larger than a peasant house. Larger than the Vallière mansion, perhaps even larger than the royal castle. It reminded Louise of a boar, but no boar was made entirely out of metal, nor did they breathe fire. It… probably wasn’t much of a boar to begin with. It had two sets of tusks, a grin full of teeth sharp as the sharpest blades and three spikes growing out of its head; one right on top and two on the sides.

Then there were the… pipes? A bunch of pipes on its back, each of them blasting out a flame so pure and so strong it would make Square-class Fire Mages feel inadequate. “Kirche would throw herself at this thing without a pause”, Louise thought in grim amusement as she sized up the leviathan in front of her and her childhood friend. It stood there, breathing slowly and heavily like a bear ready to pounce upon the unsuspecting prey. It was becoming increasingly more obvious that there was no way to pass around the monster. They would have to fight it or to go back into the darkness.

Screw that noise. She was a Vallière, and she was not going to be intimidated by any creature, big or small. In fact… she knew, she just instinctually knew how to make that beast move. Her life and her friend’s life hinged upon that instinct. The monster roared into the black sky, letting loose a ball of molten iron that exploded in a fiery cascade, illuminating the road and all around it. This time, Louise’s eyes widened and she hesitated for the tiniest of moments.

Beyond them, above them… everywhere, there were bones. Some were still, formed into grotesque visages. Some moved, limbs and jaws reaching out futilely towards the glowing road. All places around them were taken by the dead; all but one, the shining gate behind the metal beast. The warning was obvious enough: force the monster to concede or join the bones like all before you.

“Shall we?” She heard the pure, encouraging voice of Princess Henrietta. She was holding a lute. Why was she holding a lute? _Why was Louise herself holding a lute?_ Actually, no, these were not lutes. They looked different; bigger, stronger… safer? Truly, this dream was turning more bizarre with each passing second.

“Okay.” She heard herself reply and felt her hands move upon the strings of her guitar before they both faced the guardian of the road to greatness. Two troubadours – unlikely as they were – faced The Eternal Fire Beast, Cremator of the Sky and the Destroyer of the Ancient World without fear of it, without the fear of those that came before, and they played the best song Helkeginia had ever heard.

\----

While Louise was dreaming of greatness yet not understood, her familiar could not sleep.

The bed was perfectly comfortable, and he got along pretty well with the few members of the staff he met, but something just seemed off to Eddie. The air was different, much more peaceful yet much less calming. Maybe it was a sudden lack of Metal – in a metaphorical sense – in the air. It was pretty obvious that nobody here had heard of any modern music. Louise seemed mildly interested, but then again, he was a guy from another world; a fact confirmed by Osmond.

He felt at the Ironheade pendant idly – the Headmaster gave it to him after all the explaining was done - then looked up at the night sky. Two moons glowed high above, like a pair of eyes belonging to a particularly observant higher being. Beat the skull-shaped moon from their tenure near the Sea of Black Tears, at least. “Wonder how the others are doing…” The roadie thought, idly rolling the blade of grass in his mouth as he stared at the stars. There was nobody here at this hour; the familiars had stalls on the other side of the Academy.

It wasn’t unusual of him to disappear for longer periods of time. Now that Doviculus had been cut down, any enemies to the Ironheade were few and in-between, disarrayed and easy to handle. Between Lita, Ophelia, The Baron and Rima, they had enough leaders to handle things. Mangus was a pretty competent stand-in roadie, too. It wasn’t like the rank-and-file was dumb or would go around running like headless chickens if he was gone for a bit longer.

“Nah, they’re probably fine”, he thought with a small chuckle, idly caressing Clementine’s strings. This place was making him feel a little melancholic, to be fair. Everybody once dreamed about being transported to a fantasy world where they would singlehandedly shape its history. Well, he was still on a “kid with a wooden sword coming out of a starter village” step of that adventure, but hey. If nothing else, he could teach Louise how to shred a mean guitar. Or a lute. A lute would probably work too.

The chilly night air carried a pleasant sound, reminiscent of a soothing Thunderhog jam. Eddie tried matching to create a melody; two guitars communicating with each other through great distance. Now that he thought of it, it wasn’t any bass guitar… it was, note for note, a Thunderhog guitar. It took him a moment to register that fact before he pulled himself up to a sit, looking around, Clementine going abruptly silent. Whoever the other player was, they did not notice, the soothing tune gliding through the sky still. It was not as refined or technical as a Thunderhog’s, but one could not mistake the timbres of the bass itself.

Eddie began heading towards the tune, Clementine coming back to life with a soft purr of her own. This time, it was the bass that quieted down for a moment before picking back up, trying to play in synch with him. “Self-taught…” He muttered to himself, continuing to slowly approach as the melody – slow at first and gradually intensifying while remaining its gentleness – continued. Someone at Servants’ Quarters was doing a pretty good job. Eventually, he came close to the windows, back resting against the wall. Looking up, the sound came from the opened window on the second floor. It carried smoothly through the air, resonating with the innate magic of the world.

No words were needed when they could instead speak with their guitars instead. This impromptu melody was all they needed. After all, music – especially good, kickass music – transcended age, gender and race.

Two floors higher, a particular maid’s heart was racing with joy as she strummed her bass together with the guitar below. There he was, her kindred spirit. Someone who _understood_. No longer was she alone, forced to practice in secrecy on pain of ridicule or, worse, confiscation of her grandfather’s legacy. All she needed to do was to approach him now. It was not going to be an easy task – he was Miss Vallière’s familiar, after all – but Siesta would not let it deter her.

\----

Louise’s head was pounding the next day.

Her first instinct was to call out for her Familiar, only to realize the man was assigned a whole another room in whole another part of the Academy. Right. No matter that, her head _hurt_. Was it because of this strange dream she had? It was a really weird dream. She and Anne were on this weird road in front of a weird metal demon, and they were playing lutes…?

Oh. “…Brimir’s balls, not again.” Louise groaned. Again she called the Princess by her childhood name, and she had been telling herself for the longest time to stop. Doing. That. Of course, Anne would just say it’s okay, since they were playmates and—

Again! This day was shaping up amazingly already…

She left her room shortly, trying and failing to get her headache to go away. Rubbing her temple did little to help and the approaching Germanian war cry – it sure sounded like a war cry to her at this hour and at this state – only made things worse. “Hello, Miss Louise~ How is my favorite Vallière doing?”

“Go away, Zerbst.” Was all the pinkette could muster, not even able to make it sound particularly spiteful. The Gallian bookworm was with Kirche, of course, as always, though that one wasn’t really the type to talk. This lack of fire in her redhead’s favorite teasing target seemed surprising.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be proud of your summoning? Where is that handsome hunk anyway?”

“He was sleeping somewhere else, because unlike like you, Zerbst, I like to keep a modicum of decency at night.” Ah, there it was, the good old-fashioned Vallière spark. Still a little out of it, but Kirche was making progress.

“I can’t help it that all of you Tristanians are such prudes. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t scoff indignantly every time Guiche passes near you.”

“Look, Zerbst, I’m not in the mood for another spat. My head hurts as if an orc smacked me with a mace, I did not sleep well, and I _still_ need to find that boor before he does something uncivilized. You Germanians do uncivilized things.” True, it did seem that Louise was a little crankier than usual. Kirche couldn’t help but frown. Everybody in the classroom yesterday had heard what the man that she summoned said. A word that everybody understood regardless of their spoken language. Professor Colbert did not dismiss it either, so… there might have been a possibility that little Louise…

…no, certainly not! Reading runes was no easy task even for esteemed scholars, let alone a Germanian skald. Perhaps he misread that… or… or perhaps little Louise was a Void Mage. That would be a doozy. “Had a bad dream? Do you perhaps need a loving embrace?~”

“I won’t let you suffocate me, you boob demon!” Well, at least Louise was back to normal. Tabitha was a little in the back, reading her little booklet, but Kirche could feel she was a little more tense than usually; no doubt because of the yesterday’s possible revelations. “…it was weird, really. I was walking down this… long and lonesome road, with a friend…” A friend? How curious! She would have to ask more on that, see if she could get this little pink fuzzball to open up more, and perhaps stop worrying about a possibility of Louise being a Void Mage. “And then, there shined a shiny demon, right in the middle of the road. It roared, it beckoned us to play the best song in the world.”

“Aw, you never told me you can play an instrument.”

“I can’t. It was a dream, you idiot.” Louise groused at the redhead, rubbing her temple in irritation and, again, to try and make the pain go away. “But it really was the best song in the world, I can say that much.”

“…subjective.” Tabitha finally contributed to the conversation in her usual thrifty fashion.

“Well, maybe you can intone it for us? I’m curious myself.” Kirche threw in her bit too. Much to her disappointment, the pinkette shook her head. “Whenever you remember then, little Louise.”

And speaking of Louise, there was her Familiar. Now that the redhead could get a good look at him, she had to say that she liked what she saw. He was tall – very tall – and broad-shouldered, with an impressive set of arms. The axe on his back likely weighed quite a lot, on top of his strange lute, made seemingly out of metal in its entirety. He and the black-haired maid – Siesta, Kirche believed her name was – were engaging in a lively conversation. That too was good. It wasn’t an opinion shared among many here, but the redhead believed in a healthy amount of fraternization with commoners. They were people too, after all, and sometimes much more skilled at certain things than them oh so powerful nobles.

It was mostly why she was fond of little Louise, in a strange rivalry mild bullying sort of way. She was not perfect, but she was treating the commoner servant staff much, much better than an average student. Now that she had summoned a Familiar, she was no longer a Zero too.

Well… not everybody thought that yet. “Good morning, Kirche, Tabitha… Zero.” Spoke one Montmorency Margarita La Fère De Montmorency, one half of the ever-entertaining couple with Guiche filling in for the second part. “Have you no shame at all, not a shred of pride?” And she was right on top of the little pinkette, with accusations most strange. If there was anything Louise had, it would be a lot of pride to keep trying despite the unfriendly environment.

“What are you on about, Montmorency?” Predictably, the third of the Vallière family replied with a grumble and a frown. The fight was in the making.

“True, you had us fooled for quite some time. It was the talk of the school for the entire afternoon.” The blonde replied haughtily. “But no longer can you keep up a charade like this.”

“Monmon, to the point.” Tabitha cut in, her voice with the same dispassionate inflection. Kirche bit back a giggle; that was the affectionate nickname Guiche bestowed the blonde with. Sometimes, it was hard to tell if she liked it or not. She took it about as well as the Germanian suspected: with a healthy increase of crimson on her face. Oh, these Tristanians. Prudes, to a man.  

“W-well, I propose that all this is a simple masquerade! The man over there is naught but a commoner your family hired with their vast funds.” For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Kirche took notice that the man in question and Siesta’s chatter cut off, the two – the Familiar, in particular – staring at the scene. Not a sound from any third party in front of the classroom either. “Mimicking the runes would have been simple enough as well.”

“…so you think I would deliberately brand myself a heretic just to appear as if I had summoned a familiar?” Louise drawled slowly and, much to general surprise, quite calmly as well. True, Monmon’s theory was a little crazy, now that everybody in the know could think on it a bit. “And that I wouldn’t rather choose ordinary familiar runes?”

“Well, that’s—“

“—a baseless accusation I would duel you over if the academy did not forbid it.”

“You, duel me? Now that’s a laugh!” Montmorency seemed to have bounced back from her earlier dead end of a conversation, with a smug smile to match. Kirche could only hope that Guiche was nearby to get the idea out of the blonde’s head lest something _bad_ happens. Zero or not, Louise was still unintentionally proficient at blowing stuff up. “You forget your place, Zero.”

“Okay, ladies, how about we all calm down?” The familiar – Ed, was his name? – approached with a gesture of peace. “The runes are pretty real, no matter what they say. You can ask Old Osmond.”

“You are not involved in this quarrel, you brute.” Montmorency didn’t deign to grace the broad-shouldered skald with the slightest of looks.

“I dunno, I’m feeling pretty involved.” He gestured at Louise. “That’s my boss you’re making light of.”

“So you do admit she is nothing but your empl—“

“Saying “Master” gives me a bad case of déjà vu. Anyway, it’s like what I’ve said.”

“Your word means little to me, _commoner_.”

“Harsh. What about a deed then? Will that convince the lady?”

“Wait, familiar, what are you planning?” Louise cut into the exchange between the skald and the blonde, a frown adorning her pink features. “There’s no need to be proving anything. Let Monmon stew in disbelief.”

“You are the last person with the right to call me Monmon, Zero!”

\----

A little to the side, the life was business as usual for both Kirche and Tabitha. Louise was back to normal – if slightly more smug – and now trading barbs back and forth with Montmorency. At some point one of those arguments would end up physical, and not in the way the redhead would advertise.

Siesta joined them, fidgeting nervously. “I… um, I do hope Miss Vallière and Sir Ed will be alright. I… I might be responsible for this argument.” She said meekly, as if trying to explain herself.

“Ah. What, pray tell, did you do?” Kirche inquired curiously. The maid fidgeted again, watching as the two sides of the argument devolved into name-calling and petty insults with Eddie fruitlessly trying to get them to bury the hatchet.

“W-well, um, I directed a first-year student, Miss Katie, to where Sir Gramont was at the time and… he… was courting Miss Montmorency in that v-very instant.” A small pause. “Then… t-they gave him a… proof of their displeasure.” The redhead snickered.

“Oh, Guiche, you heartthrob. One day Monmon will feed you a love potion.”

“…love potions illegal.”

“I doubt that would stop her, Tabby. Still, that does explain why she too seems crankier than usual. Truly, what a strange day.” And Louise’s handsome familiar was still trying to get them to calm down even after the little pink fuzzball started waving her finger right in front of the blonde’s face.

“So… what do you two think of Sir Ed?” Tabitha couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of course that was the next topic of conversation. Siesta made a noise akin to a squeaky toy, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Strong. Very.” The bluenette offered her own concise description of the man. If he truly was a Gandálfr, that would confirm Louise’s identity as a Void Mage and force her to take action. Still… there definitely was something else to this man. Detect Evil cast out of reflex back at the summoning ritual revealed his half-demonic heritage; the axe on his back too once belonged to the unholy. He was very laid-back for a half-demon, of course, but appearances could be very deceiving.

“Indeed. I bet he could carry all of us on his mighty arms without a problem.” There Kirche was, her voice sing-songy and the fire reignited. “Or even on a single one.”

“W-would there be place left to g-grab on though…?” Siesta interjected meekly, and then squeaked again when the redhead chuckled sultrily.

“That’s the point, Siesta, dear~ Ah, looks like they’ve come to a conclusion.”

\----

“And you’re sure it’s fine?” The end result of that spat between Louise and Montmorency – fuck, that was a mouthful – settled as thus; Eddie would prove his abilities as a familiar with Guiche providing the challenge on Monmon’s behalf.

“Please. I bet you could bend a Valkyrie in two like a pretzel even if you weren’t a Familiar.” At the very least, the pink snot had faith in him. “Anyway, mage-to-mage duels are forbidden within the premises of the Academy… but since you’re “just” a familiar, you’re exempt from that ruling.”

“Convenient. So, anything I should know about this Quiche?” Eddie raised an eyebrow when Louise started snickering. “What?”

“Oh, ehehe, nothing, just… I never thought of that.”

“Thought of what?”

“You mean you didn’t call him Quiche on purpose?” A look of realization washed over Eddie and he joined in the chuckling.

“Huh, I guess it was a slip of the tongue.” He hummed. Yeah, somehow they were just getting along despite the rocky start. Something just clicked between two people that couldn’t have been more different. “Anyway, back to the question.” They were headed for the Vestri Court; that was where Monmon said the duel would proceed.

“All Guiche does is summon Valkyries, really. I trust you can handle a bunch of simple golems?”

“You want them rare or well-done?” Louise gave him a long, questioning look. “I figured that I might as well give you some proper demonstration. I might not look like much – no matter how much that redhead is ogling me” He idly gestured behind. The pinkette’s tired groan seemed to indicate that this was what was to be expected. “but I can show you wonderful things.” True, her familiar was from another world, but it was hard to stop actually thinking of him as a Germanian skald.

“Such as?”

“The music that can tear a soul out of your body. Or just blow stuff up.” That… didn’t sound very promising. Well, she had no doubt that Eddie could come around all the same. If more sophisticated methods failed, he could probably just pull Guiche in a headlock or something. “Trust me. You’ll like it. Just, quick question: do you want me to rough him up much?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t hurt him if you can help it.”

“Got it. Louise, I promise you one thing: it’ll be metal as fuck.”


	4. Youth Gone Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory Guiche duel goes here.

Guiche du Gramont was many things.

As a fourth son of famous General du Gramont, not much was expected of him. He was a Dot-Class mage, with a runic name “The Bronze”, and with a specialty of summoning his trusty Valkyries. His good looks could not be questioned, and his fluttering heart full of passion for beautiful maidens of the Academy was unmistakable as well. It got him in trouble with his muse – the ever-breathtaking Monmon – but he would make amends for her. His honor as a Noble and his dignity as a man demanded as such.

Quite fortunately, such a chance literally walked right in front of him and its name was Ed of Germania. His beautiful blonde dove demanded that he, Guiche du Gramont, defend her honor with all he had. With the permission of Zero, her own “familiar” would be used as his opponent so no rules of Academy are bent. With his artful craft, he would defeat this hired thug with ease and restore Monmon’s good name. After all, under no circumstances could a commoner defeat a noble, no matter how physically strong and imposing they were.

…then why was Guiche feeling this strange sense of trepidation? As far as he knew, the man was nothing special. He was strong and large; his outfit was exotic and he carried both a double-edged axe and the strangest lute the young Gramont had ever set his eyes upon. Those things all made sense; supposedly the man was “summoned” from far far east, the fringes of Germania – a country already barbaric at its heart, lovely Zerbst flame notwithstanding.

Was it because the man showed up immediately, with time to spare? Or was it perhaps because he was warding off the premises of their duel with a line of cloth provided by the black-haired maid as if afraid of collateral damage? Just what could he do that would even inflict collateral damage?

“You’re not looking too sure of yourself, dude.” The barbarian spoke and Guiche came back to his senses. Why was he afraid of this man again? Perhaps he was simply trying to psyche him out? Yes, that made sense to the young noble. His opponent was grasping at straws to even the playing field. Most unluckily for him, House Gramont stood tall. “You don’t have to do it, you know.”

“Nonsense.” Guiche replied with a laugh and a well-practiced pose that left the female part of the audience swooning. Well, at least the part that wasn’t aware of his two-timing ways yet. “As a son of a general and a war hero, I should never reject an opportunity for training. I hope you are prepared adequately, commoner.”

“I guess you’re not fighting me directly, are you?” Ed the barbarian hummed as he finished wrapping the area of their duel with the cloth, idly rolling his shoulders.

“No no, nothing of the sort. My Valkyries will be an appropriate opposition for someone of your caliber.” Guiche saw his opponent frown in disbelief. There seemed to be a measure of disappointment in his expression as well.

“You know, I don’t feel you’re taking this seriously at all.” He muttered, gently taking the metal lute off his back. The blond heartthrob frowned in turn. What was this barbarian planning? Shock him into surrendering with indecent Germanian songs?

“Says the man fighting with an instrument.” Guiche snapped back in annoyed tone, pointing his rose at Ed. Contrary to what he expected, the barbarian only chuckled.

“Oh, the axe’s fine too, but if I am to show you some real magic, I gotta play Clementine here.” Did he say magic? Preposterous. He was nothing but a Germanian skald. Even if – and it was a very huge if – he happened to be a true familiar; even a Gandálfr, blasphemous notion this was, he was no dragon, no manticore, no beast of war that a mage of his pedigree couldn’t defeat. “Well, just gotta play this solo and I’m ready to go.”

“Play what?”

“Just humor me, man.” Despite the rude way this brute was talking to his betters, Guiche couldn’t help but feel a bit of curiosity. It didn’t matter, really. Whatever he would produce – even something imitating magic – would be weak to his own craft. There were better Mages in this Academy than him, of course, but he was damned if he would let this boor get the better of him, fourth of General Gramont.

“Very well. Dazzle us, skald.” The command was said condescendingly and arrogantly, but Eddie took it without much offense. After all, nobody here was aware of what he could do. What he could _really_ do. If there was ever any time to show them… it would be now.

“Alright. Then let this be a tribute to the Gods of Metal.” Gods of Metal? Brimir dear, the man wasn’t just a barbarian, he was a _heathen_. Still, Guiche would allow him to play. Let it not be said that The Bronze was not a magnanimous man. “For the awesomeness to come, for the fans who could not hear this, for those who do not believe yet. Man, that sounded like a sermon…” The Germanian skald chuckled as his fingers – seemingly too big and too thick to handle such a delicate instrument – found their way to the strings, a small pick in his hands.

Then he started playing, and Guiche’s generosity flew right through the window as… this… this _cacophony_ started. It sounded like no instrument he had ever heard; the sound was distorted, rough, it resembled the roar of a dying beast than anything else. If not for a sudden burst of fire – a pillar of flames rising behind the barbarian as he played – the blond would summon the Valkyries to end this mockery of music right away. He did summon his bronze warriors anyway, but something within him shook. Part of it was rage, part of it was fear. The smallest part was fascination.

Ed stopped playing with a flourish, letting the demonic sound linger in the ears of the audience for a moment longer. Hushed whispers reached both him and Guiche already; whispers of disbelief, of indignation, of confusion. “Well, I’m good to go.” He said, holstering the instrument. Was it just the blond’s imagination or was it red hot, that… “zither” of his?

“W-well then, I am Guiche du Gramont, and The Bronze is my runic name. As such, you will face my bronze Valkyries.” The barbarian looked unimpressed when Guiche gestured towards the golem by his side, but that would soon change once he would see it in action. So what if he could conjure a fire like that? That could have been a firework, or some sort of trickery to fool the eye. And even if – a huge if – this really was true magic, it came from the blasphemy, from fake gods this boor worshipped. It could not hold a candle to Brimir’s. “Go, Valkyrie, and bring me victory!”

The golem charged forward, a shining lance in hand. Normally he would start small, but Guiche figured that his opponent was well-versed in raw, physical combat. The axe he carried spoke true of that, the one he so nonchalantly grabbed from his back and took it into his hand, holding it as if it were a mere toy. The man was strong and his music – hellish and awful as it was – brought some sort of excitement from Guiche. For that, he could be thankful; not that it was enough to spare Ed of Germania.

And then, everything exploded.

\----

Kirche was the first to notice the abnormality.

She did root for Louise’s familiar, if only because the notion of Guiche getting his pompous butt kicked was one of gratification. Of course, so far he has shown nothing to support the notion. Strong warrior or not, Guiche was a Mage and Mages had an upper hand over commoners; especially in a duel like this. Truly, it wasn’t quite fair to Ed; if anything, they should have fought with iron instead.

Then, however, once he began playing his zither, the flame spurted out and Kirche’s heart soared. What was this? What was this sudden burst of fire? Supposedly the man was a barbarian from the fringes of Germania, so how… ? Didn’t matter. The redhead’s runic name was “Ardent”, and though some mistakenly – or purposefully – attributed it to her passion about men – and sometimes women, but these Tristanian prudes would throw a collective fit if that ever came out – its real meaning was her respect and admiration for Fire itself. It might not have been the strongest element, or the most versatile of them, but Kirche held love for it all the same. Really, she wouldn’t have summoned a salamander if that weren’t the case.

…perhaps these flames were those Gods of Metal Ed called upon a moment ago. She wasn’t particularly invested in Brimirism, and there had to be other deities out there, even if more ardent (ha!) supporters of Faith would deny that or dismiss them as pagan mumbling. Germania was a vast country and though its official religion was that of the Founder, there was no repression of other, stranger cults. Really, sometimes it felt like the rulers of her homeland only accepted Brimirism as a way of fitting in, so that people in the four countries West would stop thinking of them as uncouth barbarians. Still had a long way to go, apparently.

The music accompanying Ed’s flames was nothing like she had heard before. It was rough, it was brutal, it was… barbaric. And yet, there was something deeply entertaining in its quality, how he played the strings with his black pick. It was something carnal, a feeling of most basic, most animalistic desires dwelling within Kirche’s heart. It beckoned to her to let it all out, to enjoy the moment, between one heartbeat and another. And then…

Then there was a small airship burning through the sky, falling down right on top of the duelists. It just… it just appeared. If it had been falling for a while now, like a proper aircraft, she would have been able to take notice sooner… but no, it seemed like it just popped out of thin air, and then it exploded in the area Ed had designated earlier in a ball of fire and passion. Ah… so that was why he warded it off. Despite all laws of the universe, nothing from the burning wreckage actually spilled beyond the circle of cloth, almost as if a spell of protection was cast on it.

When the smoke cleared and the panic has lessened, the observers could see this seemingly ordinary barbarian calmly holster sheathe his axe back, no longer needed, as he watched Guiche on the other end of the dueling ring. It seemed that, despite just having an airship crash  on top of him, he wasn’t any worse for wear. Physically, that is. It was hard not to see the sheer amount of muted shock plastered all over his face covered in soot. His mouth was hanging open and his arms slacked forward, eyes glued to a spot where the Valkyrie he ordered to attack his opponent was.

Now it was nothing but a shadow. There wasn’t a slightest trace of the golem left beyond a black smear on the grass.

\----

“Ah, crap. I guess I overdid it.” Eddie muttered, sheathing his axe with a frown. Perhaps he could have extended the fight some by starting off small and not bringing the big guns right away. Still, there was something deeply satisfying about the stupefied expression on Guiche’s face and the roadie could tell that his wasn’t the only one. These kids would finally start taking Louise seriously. She might have not summoned a dragon, but she had summoned a roadie; in most circumstances, this was the second best thing.

“Well, I guess that’s that for a duel.” He hummed. Guiche didn’t respond, still busy just staring at the spot. Not even Montmorency’s arrival shook him out of it as she checked for any injury. He had to adjust the solo a little to make sure the kid didn’t get harmed, but it seemed some damage would last. The hollow look in his eyes spoke volumes. Guiche’s entire world got shaken apart with these few precious seconds of Shreddy Eddie. “You take care, Quiche.”

And then he left, waving his opponent off with a single gesture, leaving the audience to process what happened. Some distance behind him, Kirche was on fire, eyes glued to the broad-shouldered back clad in a black leather jacket and whole body trembling with excitement and desire. Standing next to her, Tabitha frowned with disbelief and curiosity both. Some ways back, Siesta’s eyes were watery from this beautiful, beautiful display. It wasn’t even about a commoner winning with a noble… rather, it was about the sheer power of the spectacle. Ed the barbarian brought forth some amazing music, and it rocked her heart to the very core.

Then there was Louise.

\----

“W-what in Brimir’s balls was that?!” An exotic curse reached Eddie’s ears around halfway through the corridor. It was the pink rocket alright, face seemingly torn between anger, amazement and shock. He couldn’t really blame her: that might have been the very first solo in her life, let alone an Age of Metal’s solo as opposed to an ordinary one. As he himself put it, back home the guitar could only make noises while here it could blow shit up.

“Bring It On Home. That’s how the solo is called.” He replied with a shrug. Louise would not be satisfied with just that, of course, barring him from advancing further.

“That… that doesn’t tell me anything! You can do magic!”

“Yeah, so?”

“A-and you just… you just willed a destroyed airship into being b-by playing this stupid zither! A-and it crashed, and it exploded, a-and yet… Guiche didn’t even look hurt and—“

“Well, I wasn’t planning on hurting him. Might have left some mental damage though.” Eddie chuckled humorlessly, going past Louise. She would not let go so easily; again she was in his way.

“How can you make light of such… such grand display of magic?” Yes, she knew “Ed the barbarian” was just a cover-up story, but… nothing so far indicated that this man – her Familiar, her _Gandálfr_ – possessed such extraordinary powers. From what little she recalled about Founder’s familiars, The Left Hand of God was said to possess martial ability to wield any weapon… not to bring down airships on people’s heads with a “solo”, whatever the hell that was. Conclusion: These were Eddie’s innate powers.

…what the hell did she summon…?

“I guess I’m just used to it. I don’t use this one a lot, mind you, but I figured I can give you some proper demonstration of what I can do.” Eddie scratched the back of his head, then his hand moved over to his cheek, stroking it idly in thought. “That’s in my job description.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“I’m a roadie, and a roadie’s job is to make another guy look good.”

“But… but how come? I can’t compare to you in any way, you just… I… I don’t understand…” She seemed down. Well, he wasn’t too good with kids, but maybe he could try and help some. Louise here was pushed around for long enough. The least he could do is to take some weight off her shoulders. With a shake of his head, he knelt in front of her.

“You summoned me, kid. That’s no small feat.” Gently – because it felt like her shoulder might get dislocated if he patted her – he put his hand on her shoulder. “Especially for someone who’s been called Zero all her time here at the academy. You just did something that shut them all up, and if they didn’t believe it, they sure as hell will believe in you now.”

“B-but it’s still you who did all this, a-and the summoning might have been a fluke…”

“Maybe so, but you could have chosen not to agree to the duel. You could have backed out. You could have not believed in me. With that belief, we showed Quiche what-for.” He wasn’t lying. She could have just backed out, but there probably wasn’t anything about belief about this. It was just a noble’s stubborn pride, the pride of Vallière… “You know what I think, Louise? I think Metal isn’t about understanding. It’s about feeling, and you’re pretty damn passionate.”

“I… I’m confused.” She admitted sheepishly, averting eyes from her familiar. He chuckled and stood up. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well… what if I told you that you could probably play a guitar mean enough to blow things up?”


	5. Knights of Cydonia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now for something completely different!

Meanwhile, in the Brutal Land, people were running around like headless chickens.

“What do you mean he’s disappeared?” Lita Halford, the Queen of Bladehenge and of all free peoples liberated from the tyranny of the demons, questioned in a demanding tone. The two Headbangers carrying the message shrunk a little despite themselves. The Queen could have been a very threatening presence whenever she wanted to.

“T-that’s what the Zaulia told us, ma’am…” The one in a helmet muttered, voice conveying an apology. “That there was a portal and Eddie got sucked in through it, a-at their temple.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me… just like that, a portal out of nowhere?”

“To be fair, that’s how Eddie ended up here in the first place.” Ophelia interjected. It seemed she was taking it pretty well, all things considering. True, her boyfriend had a penchant for vanishing like this, but then again, he never… well, “vanished” vanished before. “Still, probably best to check it out. I’ll go grab a Headsplitter, we’ll get there in a jiffy.”

“Right. Report back whenever possible. And… do be careful.” The former leader of the Drowning Doom – not quite of her own volition, but that’s a story for another time – couldn’t help but smile a little. She and Lita have come a long way since the blonde’s initial mistrust of her. Through open hostility and then doubt and acceptance, they have managed to find tolerance and even… a sense of kinship. It was a little notion, and Ophelia did feel that the Queen was still a little wary of her, but these baby steps were progress.

“No worries. Come on, dudes, we’re heading out!” She gestured at the two Headbangers that have delivered the message. Slim and Jim, their names were, she recalled. Always stuck with each other, those two.

\----

This had been a weird couple of months.

It all began with Eddie’s arrival to this world, in the blood-soaked Temple of Ormagoden. He appeared at the altar in the midst of a ritual commenced by Doviculus’ Druids. He grabbed the axe, swinging it like he had been to every battle under the sun, despite his assurance that he never touched a weapon like that in his life. His guitar could bend the elements to his will, casting lightning and flames upon his foes. Frankly, she was smitten a little bit back then already. Though exotic and a man from another land, there was a lot of familiarity in him. He dressed a lot like them, appreciated the same kind of music, fancied the same kind of drinks.

Funny. She never actually asked him what this “mead” was.

They weren’t doing much in Bladehenge, just sitting around, sipping beer and plotting ideas of glorious revolution that would never come to fruition. Eddie’s arrival changed it. They now had a man who could lead all this, make something out of it. Lars was many things, but a good strategist was not one of them, and Lita back then insisted on keeping a low profile, decrying their ideas as suicidal. Despite all odds, they’ve managed; Eddie freed the Headbangers from Lionwhyte’s slave mines. Ophelia was on fire, eager to help out on her own. It almost cost her her life when she got mauled by Razorfire Boars, but she didn’t let it get to her. They finally got the attention of General Lionwhyte himself,  and for the shortest of moments Ophelia thought that this fight is unwinnable after all. They persevered and they beat the tacky, hairy horde of his minions; from there, Ironheade began kicking ass and taking names, one step at a time. She and Eddie became an item after the mission at Wall of Destruction and together brought the fight to Lionwhyte’s citadel, finally achieving a decisive victory. All four of them contributed to the victory some, but there was no denying that Eddie’s contribution was the largest. He, after all, was the one to enable this triumph in the first place.

Then things took a turn for the worse. Between Lars’ sudden death, miscommunication between Ophelia, Lita and Eddie and the untimely arrival of the demonic forces behind Lionwhyte, she was left on her own, betrayed and grieving. In her despair, she found the Sea of Black Tears… or perhaps the Sea found her instead. The next few months were a blur. She spent them at the bottom of the treacherous ocean, letting her grief and sadness take form and antagonize Ironheade on demons’ behalf. It was a maddening experience, and one she did not wish to happen. Once again, against all odds, they fought back the dead at her avatar’s command, beat them back all the way to the Sea of Black Tears and, once the demons showed up once more, beat them as well. The day was won and Eddie even managed to save her amongst all this. Lita was crowned the new Queen of Free Peoples while Lars received a posthumous statue to commemorate him.

Everybody knew it was Eddie that made all of this possible, but they also knew he’d rather they don’t celebrate his contributions, choosing to attribute them to Halford siblings. The day was saved and they were finally free from the tyranny… yet the greatest roadie that led them there chose to simply drive off into sunset. Of course, it wasn’t like he was gone forever; they’ve seen each other many times and he tried to make these visits to Bladehenge regularly.

The notion that he would just stop didn’t quite register to anyone, let alone to her. They would probably manage without him now, but… it just didn’t click. Plus, there was the fact that he was her boyfriend. Having your SO vanish without a trace wasn’t a pleasant notion.

\----

Sure as day, the portal was right there.

At the top of the Zaulia temple stood a vortex of purple energy, adorning the structure like a strange, freaky crown. It swirled in silence, cordoned off from any viewers by a line of Zaulia, all in their ceremonial battle garbs with spears at the ready. A quick talk with Rima, the leader of the tribe, confirmed what happened with Eddie: he went over to examine the vortex and got sucked in through it. There was nothing that anyone could have done to prevent this; it was over before it began.

“Has anyone else come through the portal?” Ophelia asked. The Zaulia leader shook her head.

“Nay. I have barred others from coming after Son of Riggnarok. Whatever lies ahead, it is probably beyond capabilities of anyone but him.”

“That does make trying to find him some more difficult…” Son of Riggnarok’s girlfriend grumbled, but she couldn’t deny Rima her logic. Eddie had his head on his shoulders. “And we need to do it fast. Doviculus’ goons might be scattered, but if they catch wind of that, we’re gonna be in deep trouble.”

“I like to think we can defend ourselves without him now that he provided us with the knowledge and that you can wield the guitar in his stead.” Ophelia scratched the back of her head awkwardly, sheepish half-smile, half-scowl on her face. True, her brief stint with the Drowned Doom let her practice her own skills. Sort of. “It’s true that the demons should know not of this however.”

“If that’s even possible. We’ll have to send someone after him.”

\----

In the end, they held a meeting at Bladehenge. Everybody got to know what the problem was, from the lowest of footsoldiers to the big shots in the kingdom.

“In the end, we need a rescue party.” Ophelia concluded her announcement, eyes surveying the public cautiously. “We have no real clue where Eddie is at the moment, but Rima of the Zaulia says the portal leads only to that particular world. I know this is a lot to ask of you, dudes, but we need two or three volunteers to venture there.”

“Count me in!” One of the Headbangers spoke up, raising his fist up. This one, oddly enough, had facial hair; and not just any facial hair, but a whimsical moustache that Ophelia would probably snicker at if not the circumstances. “If there’s a chance to pay back my wingman Eddie, that would be now!”

“Then I’m in too!” A Razor Girl at his side – in fact, the two seemed to be a couple, even – nodded resolutely as well, cocking her rifle. “Julio is right. Eddie got us together, so it’d be a damn shame if we let him down like that.” Oh. Of course his name was Julio. In the corner of her eye Ophelia caught the notion of Lita rolling her eyes with mild irritation.

“You guys sure about that? There might be no coming back from wherever you’re going to go.” She warned them, face serious. The crowd was filled with mutterings and hushed whispers. Julio and his girlfriend didn’t look like they were planning to back out though. “…alright. Lita?”

“With the blessing of the queen, go forth and bring Eddie back to us.” The queen of Bladehenge peoples hesitated for a moment before choosing to omit the “dead or alive” part of the blessing. Of course Eddie would come back okay. The last thing she needed was for Ophelia to let despair consume her again, and not over a misunderstanding like the last time.

“Wait, they might need a ride. Beats the hell out of walking wherever they’re going to.”

“Then I’ll go.” One of the Thunderhogs intoned from his spot, idly strumming his bass. “Can carry two more people on my baby no sweat.”

“Oh man, not you…” Julio groaned. Of course, out of all Thunderhogs it had to be the one that courted his Jenny the most, and yet it seemed like there was no malice to the guy’s voice when he offered his participation. Did he forget already? The notion was making the mustachioed Headbanger even more irate. Still, he had a point. If they had to sneak around, a Headsplitter would be too much and a Fire Baron’s ride was for a single person only. And, of course, they couldn’t take a Rockcrusher (even if the notion was hilarious!) with them.

“Bad blood between you dudes?” Ophelia inquired and Julio realized that he spoke out loud. Everybody’s eyes were on him, and he did not like it one bit. Well, except for Jen’s encouraging look. That he could get behind.

“No, it’s fine. Sorry. Just a spat from a while back.” It was time to be a better man – not necessarily a taller one. The Thunderhog bassist chuckled and put away his guitar.

“We were courting the same girl. Shorty there won, and I say good for them both.” He spoke casually, arousing another wave of whispers and mutterings. While Julio didn’t quite feel good with this knowledge being public, it was a refreshing change of pace to have a Thunderhog admit defeat. “That don’t matter now. We gotta bring back our man from wherever he ended up at, and before the baddies realize he’s missing.” He was raising a valid point, Lita noted. Even if Doviculus was gone, who was to say an ambitious demon wouldn’t worm its way out to the top of chain of command in his absence?

“Can you dudes head out immediately?” Ophelia asked. Three nods later, everything was settled.

\----

“So what’s your name, anyway?” Julio asked. They were approaching the temple of the Zaulia on the Thunderhog’s bike at a steady pace, luckily able to avoid the wildlife, stray demon patrols and whatever remained out of Drowning Doom.

“It’s Jamieson. You two are Julio and Jenny, right?”

“Yeah.” Jen cut in, staring up into the sky as she and her boyfriend rode in the back of the bike. “I didn’t even realize you were courting me back then.”

“You mean, like the twenty other Thunderhogs that were there?” The bassist chuckled. Yeah, he might have been a bit miffed about Eddie’s involvement in this – he and the other Headbangers made it pretty hard to even reach that pretty lady – but sometimes you had to give the little guys some leeway too. And hey, if the lady was happy with her four and a half feet tall boyfriend, who was he to complain? “Yeah, I guess I did. No point talking about that spilled milk.”

“Yeah, I guess…” It was obvious that Julio did not like Jamieson’s company one bit. He was a good guy, Jen thought, but just a little bit possessive. Given the Thunderhogs’ reputation with the ladies, it was not necessarily unfounded. Here was hoping nothing bad would come out of this.

They arrived at the Zaulia temple soon after. The ominous purple vortex continued adorning the top of the building, cordoned off by the group of the warrior women. The trio held a writ signed by both the Queen of Bladehenge and Ophelia, authorizing them to pursue Eddie in their own right. They were not to be disturbed by anyone at the Zaulia temple.

Much to Jamieson’s relief, they didn’t even have to show it; the Zaulia just made way for them without a word. Their leader merely offered a nod as his bike rode up closer to the portal.

“Everybody ready?”

“Let’s do it!”

“Yeah! Let’s bring Eddie back!”

And so the three chosen ones too disappeared in the portal, not knowing yet that their appearance in Helkeginia would change that world. Together with Eddie they would give it its well-deserved Metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I can try to spice up the formula some, and so the idea of three J came into fruition. Every fifth chapter will be dedicated to their quest of finding Eddie, during which they'll stumble into a bunch of curious characters, OC or otherwise. I hope you can excuse that kind of change. <.<
> 
> If you do not recognize the Headbanger Julio (original name), he's the guy from a sidequest asking Eddie to help him in courting a Razor Girl (Jenny) he likes before the scores of Thunderhogs do so themselves.


	6. Metal Woman

“A music club?” Old Osmond’s eyebrow raised in a question. Mr. Riggs requested a meeting with him the other day – a few days after he casually obliterated any pride young Gramont might have had as a Mage – citing something of great importance.

A music club was not something Osmond considered a thing of great importance, but he nevertheless was willing to hear his guest out. “Yeah. I figured that the kids here could use some sort of downtime, right? Something that’s not picking on each other, at least. You’ll go crazy if you don’t have some downtime in-between each class.”

“To be fair, there is plenty of time between each class; in that regard, Tristain is fairly hands-off. That being said…” It was not the worst idea the Headmaster has heard about. There wasn’t much stress involved with education at this academy – if anything, the teachers were for the most part very forgiving of most blunders, even when Miss Vallière was the one behind them – but Magic was a fickle thing. It could easily get to one’s head, especially to a head of a young, daring Tristanian noble. These people were expected to represent its country – and there was a high chance many would do so in the war, if the trouble in Albion was to ever come knocking.

To that end, Osmond could see the uses of having a pastime. However, the politics and prestige got in the way. Unlike in Eddie’s world, here musicians were generally seen as the lower kind of folk. Some instruments saw a bit of leeway as hobbies worthy of a noble, but the general opinion seemed to be gravitating towards distrust and commoner pastimes. “That is being said… what?” The Headmaster blinked, looking at Eddie’s perplexed expression. Ah, he must have trailed off.

“I will ask other faculty members about their opinion on the matter. All lessons in the academy deal with magic one way or another, so to teach a non-magical subject, even as means of post-class recreation might be considered a little controversial.” This time the familiar’s brow furrowed. “Plus, not being a certified mage yourself could be problematic to explain to some concerned figures.”

“That sounds like a no right there.” Eddie groused and Osmond couldn’t help but agree with him silently. There was very little chance this kind of project would be seen through. Even assuming all the norms were fulfilled – including asking Miss Vallière for the permission of the “usage” of her familiar; mostly a formality, as it seemed the two have established relative equality already – he could see quite a few people sneer at the idea. The old Headmaster already had a reputation for eccentricity – and, according to some, downright perversion – and while Princess Henrietta was mostly cordial to him, Osmond knew her word was not the final one. He liked it in here.

“I’ll be honest, quite a few people will be displeased with the idea.” He would go on to explain why but then Miss Loungeville made her entrance, clearing her throat in a manner that spoke “can you get on with it?”. It seemed Mr. Riggs over there too was familiar with that manner, shooting Osmond’s secretary an annoyed look. “Ah, but we have spent quite a lot of time discussing this already. Please come back to me at a later date, in a day or two. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, man. Appreciate the effort.” Slowly, Eddie rose from his seat, gave the secretary one more passing glance and left the office.

“Really, to address a Headmaster with such audacious manner…” She huffed once the roadie left. “Whoever this man was before the summoning, he should know how to talk to his betters.”

“An unruly familiar is nothing new, Miss Loungeville.” Osmond chuckled. “And if anything else, it probably makes sense that Miss Vallière would summon one. Plus, human familiars are largely unheard of.”

“I suppose that is true. Even still…” For a moment the secretary was silent, as if considering what to say next. “The runes do not appear to be working correctly. He’s too free-spirited, too independent.”

“No, I think these attributes are fine. Normally, these were just to ensure the familiar would listen to its Master’s instructions, and as far as I’m concerned, these two are getting along despite all markings.” Osmond hummed, preparing a pipe. Chuchu, his familiar, scuttled up closer to provide some tobacco before it shuffled down on the floor, towards Miss Loungeville. The secretary shot the old pervert a glare and reflexively adjusted the creases of her skirt. “The question is, of course, what happens once Miss Vallière reminds herself that she is the Master of this relationship…”

\----

A distant explosion shook the premises of Tristain Magic Academy.

Eddie lit a cig. It seemed some things did not change so quickly. Void Mage or no, with potential to be a kickass metal woman, Louise was still pretty bad at conventional magic. Perhaps something could be done about that too, but for now he had other plans. Whether Osmond would agree to this endeavor of his didn’t mean all that much. Granted, he could probably find quite a few prospective rock-n-rollers in this school. The fire-wielding redhead, maybe?

“Ah, Sir Ed!” The voice of Siesta reached him. Sure as day, the maid in question was making her way towards him, all sunshine and smiles. It almost didn’t seem like the sheer amount of what he presumed was to be familiar chow that she was carrying was of any trouble to her. “Fancy meeting you there.”

“Yo. You need any help with that?” He asked, standing up. The maid blinked, then looked up at the top of her food pile.

“Oh no, there’s no need.” She replied despite barely holding the whole thing together. Eddie was already there, taking some of the foodstuffs off her. “A-ah… please, I don’t want to trouble you—“

“No trouble at all, Siesta. Gotta help a fellow metalhead.” The maid made a strange squeaky noise and blushed. “Especially when it’s like the only two of us in the whole, uh… what’s it called again, Tristain?”

“Er, yes! I mean, yes.” She replied, internally grateful that there was now a much lesser risk of tripping with all this food and getting in trouble for it. Still… the staff probably wouldn’t mind much, but if any of the students were to raise a complaint, that could get her in hot water. “…t-thank you, Sir Ed…”

“Oh yeah, don’t call me that. Just Eddie’s fine.” That sounded awfully intimate, using a diminutive like that. Siesta was finding it harder and harder to resist blushing. “I’m no Sir or anything. Just your average skald from Germania.”

“Can all Germanian skalds summon airships from the sky?” Eddie chuckled as they started walking.

“Got me there. I guess I am slightly un-average.”

“Still… it’s one thing to bring forth amazing music, Ed…die...” Oh Brimir, that felt weird to say. “and another to wield such magic. Is it… are you perhaps the champion of these Gods of Metal?”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know if that’s a blasphemy or not, but I think I’m doing a good job showcasing what they’re all about.” He never thought about it much. Everybody was always pro-metal in Ironheade, so there was never a question if he was doing that particular thing well. “Actually, it’s, uh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen people from your faith.” Might as well try and kill two birds with one stone. Having some knowledge on the world would not be bad.

“Oh, you mean Brimirism?” Siesta asked as they approached the familiar stables. A few of them he recognized – chiefly Kirche’s salamander, overeager to try and lick his face like the strangest dog to walk the earth, and the blue dragon that watched him cautiously. “Ah, we’ve reached the stables already? How silly of me, I thought we’re—“

“Hey, come on now. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Eddie waved off her concern with a chuckle before approaching the selection of familiars with his food. “Alright, dudes, who’s ready for some grub?”

Siesta couldn’t help but notice that most of the familiars seemed to be getting along with him swimmingly. Even Miss Tabitha’s dragon was soon joining the others, waiting its turn for its helping of meat. Maybe they recognized him as a fellow familiar? It was hard to remember, but Sir Ed was still branded just like the others, though even for Siesta’s untrained eye it seemed like his runes were slightly different. Perhaps human familiars, rare as they were, simply had a different ornament to distinguish them with.

“So, this Brimirism thing. What are the basic principles?” He asked her once they were finished shuffling all too happy salamander back on its back. Well, Sir Eddie was the one who did most of the work; the most Siesta would be able to accomplish on her own would be to ask it nicely.

“Well, it’s very simple, I think. Um… there are nobles and there are commoners—“

“…okay, wow, I’m already not liking that.” The way the maid paled seemed to indicate that religious tolerance wasn’t hot in these parts.

“A-ah, um… I know you’re not from t-these parts, but please be careful not to voice yourself out loud on this…”

“I dunno. I’m probably already a heathen to most people here.” He did openly “make a tribute” to his Gods of Metal, true, on top of commanding the strangest magic. “Anyway, that division. How is it important?”

“Well… according to Brimirism, magic is a divine right bestowed upon the nobility. Only they can wield it; such is their heritage.”

“Sounds like a dumpster fire if I’ve ever seen one.” To Eddie it sounded like a situation ripe for abuse, just like in the Middle Ages as he learned in school. Funny how most of the relics from the Age of Metal just disappeared at some point from the annals of history. Oh well. Story for another time. “It looks to me like every single person in this school underestimates what an axe to the face can do.”

“W-well, mages are still human like us commoners… but that would never happen. A mage wouldn’t let a commoner this close.” Unless you were Ed of Germania, but there had to be exceptions to rules everywhere.

“Not convinced. The whole “only nobles can use magic” thing really irks me, too. Everybody can learn how to shred a mean riff back ho-uh, back in Germania.” Now this was an interesting thought. Siesta briefly thought back to her own experiences with the “bass guitar”, as Eddie called it the other day. Wouldn’t that be nice, wielding magic through the power of music? She perished the thought after a moment of fantasizing; the last thing she wanted was to get in trouble over what somebody could perceive as pagan frivolities.

Besides, she was silly to assume Eddie could teach her. She was just a humble maid.

“Hey, Siesta, you want to learn how to use your bass better?” And then her heart skipped the beat.

“P-pardon?”

“Didn’t tell you this before, but I know the place where these come from, and I know what their people can do with them. If you have it, one of them must have bestowed it upon you.”

“Oh, um… it was my grandfather’s.” That did confirm it; other people from the Brutal Land have come here before him.

“Awesome. It’s a Thunderhog’s bass, Siesta, and that’s the best damn bass you’ll ever have in your hands.” A “thunderhog”? Now that was an intimidating name. Was her grandfather a brigand of sorts? Hopefully not. “Oh, uh, I don’t know why they went for that name either. I’m not much of a teacher, but I think you and Louise could study together just fine.” Wait, did he say Loui-oh no.

“Oh no, that w-would be most inappropriate! W-what if that got out? A-and I wouldn’t want to trouble Miss Va—“

“None of that.” He waved her off with a chuckle. Only now she had realized they were walking in circles around the Academy and have just found themselves nearby the class where Eddie’s Master was currently rattling the whole room with another explosion. “It might not be something that I was planning to introduce Louise to, but hey, nobody said it’s going to be an easy ride.”

“Ah, um…”

“Look, it’s fine if you don’t want to. Everybody here seems crazy about who gets to use magic and who doesn’t, so if you think you’d get in trouble because of it, no big deal.” True. She would be in dire straits if that became public knowledge. She could get fired and deprive her family of her income or even put on trial as a prospective witch.  

At the same time, this kind of opportunity would never present itself to her, Siesta knew that much. She could risk it and aspire to greatness or refuse and remain in mediocrity. Easy to say, given that she saw first-hand just how powerful this music could be.

The classroom’s doors opened and pulled the maid out of her thoughts. The students were taking their leave, faces a mixture of relieved, disgruntled and mocking. Nobody seemed to be harmed beyond one fellow with ruffled hair. The last to leave was the ever-familiar pinkette, face smeared with soot and resignation. “Man, it’s going to be an uphill battle. Tell you what, Siesta, you wanna come over and try it out, swing by Louise’s room at, uh… I dunno, eight PM? I mean, eight in the evening. Cheers.” And then he was gone, already pulling out a piece of cloth to offer to his Master to wipe her face off the soot.

\----

“Hey, Eddie. Maybe I’m not actually a Void Mage and just a Zero?” He had to say, it was suspicious that she was this quiet and distraught. Usually she would tell him off for some reason, apologize sheepishly, then shake her head and prepare for tomorrow. It seemed there was a limit to it, too.

“Hey, come on now. A Zero wouldn’t be able to summon nobody, let alone a roadie.”

“No, I… I think this was a fluke. And even then, just because you’re so strong and powerful and you wield magic doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a capable mage myself, does it?” Technically, it probably didn’t.

“Well, we’ve got the shredding to try out as an alternative, right?” Louise stopped, seemingly at odds with her own thoughts before she looked up. There was a lot of uncertainty on her face.

“…are you… um, are you sure this is fine? I… uh, I’d rather not give my Mother any more trouble…”

“I don’t see the problem. You want magic, I can try and teach you some of my own.” Of course he would say that, she thought half-amused. His people probably didn’t have to concern themselves with matters of “heresy” or “cultural scandal”, no matter if they were from the fringes of Germania or from another world altogether. She could hear the gossip already: the third of Karin the Heavy Wind suspected of witchcraft. Her mother’s influence in Tristain was vast, but something told Louise not even she would be able to shield her from such accusations.

Eddie’s brows narrowed. “…wait, you’re thinking this is going to be some heresy or whatever?”

“…yes, actually.” The pinkette nodded after a moment of hesitation. It must have been obvious in hindsight. “To go against Brimir’s teachings is to—“

“Man, fuck that noise.” Louise stopped again, but this time she felt her hands curl into fists in  fit of silent anger. That’s… that’s unthinkable, denouncing the religion of the Founder with such flippant attitude! Her familiar was already at odds with everything she knew about magic, but that was one thing; blatant disrespect for Brimirism was another horse entirely! “That religion you guys have in here sounds like nothing but trouble.”

“Mind your tongue!” She snapped at him. “How… how dare you make light of the sacred right like this?!”

“Hey, I’ve been told that the only reason you guys are nobles is because you have magic.”

“Yes! That’s the natural order of things!”

“So… if you can’t do magic, you’re not a noble?”

“Of cour-oh. Oh, I see, _familiar_.” The realization dawned upon Louise and she bared her teeth in a snarl. “So you’re saying I’m a commoner then, because I’m a Zero and cannot cast magic.”

“Nope. You said that.” He shrugged. “Besides, you can blow shit up just fine. That ain’t magic?”

“That’s not it, no, you dumb mongrel!” Observation: she was quick to resort to insults when backed into a corner like this.

“What about the whole Void Mage business?”

“You’re out of your mind! That’s not true! That is impossible, I cannot…”

“Old Osmond confirmed that.”

“H-he’s wrong! E-even someone like him could be wrong, I mean…!” She was desperately grasping at straws to keep feeding her low self-esteem, but even she could tell that Eddie wasn’t convinced. “…Familiar. Leave me be. I… need some time to think.” She finally announced after a deep breath. Her voice was still shaky.

“You sure you—“

“LEAVE. Me be. Eddie, okay?” All in all, Louise was still exhibiting remarkable self-control. She’d probably blow up at him with even worse insults, or perhaps even go as far as try and smack him with her wand (it’d probably break on his stupid quasi-Germanian face) if he wasn’t proving to be agreeable on other matters. Plus, a small part of her was still fascinated with the display back at the Vestri Court. “I… will be at the lesson. I’ll decide yet if I wish to study your… magic. Is that fine?”

“I guess I can’t count for much more now.” Eddie chuckled, but it sounded rather forced. “Look, just… take care, alright?” Louise nodded uncertainly, and then nodded again before taking off. He couldn’t help but watch her go. Here was hoping that she wasn’t going to do something stupid in a moment of self-loathing or… no, probably none of that would have happened. She clung to any hope that she could become a competent mage, he thought. It just seemed that being a Void Mage was a really big deal.

How big it was, Eddie couldn’t have known until much later.


	7. The Chosen Ones

Eddie never considered himself much of a teacher.

Generally speaking, a roadie wasn’t expected to help with playing the guitar. His job was to lug the gear, to keep everything working in order, to maintain decorations and  to fix anything that’s been broken. A thought crossed over his mind that perhaps Louise was a “broken” mage in that regard, but that just wouldn’t do for a comparison, would it?

As a result, he honestly had no idea if he could even “teach” either her or Siesta. It probably wouldn’t hurt to try anyway, but now he couldn’t help but think of Louise’s disappointment if it didn’t pan out, heresy or not. Probably was going to wing it, as he always did, but for that… he needed a smidgeon of understanding on Helkeginian magic, and he knew who to turn to for that.

He still had a couple of hours until the assigned date and there was a girl he had to see on the matter.

\----

Kirche was most displeased with recent developments.

She was having a difficult time catching that broad-shouldered magic skald. It wasn’t that he disappeared; she saw him quite often, in fact, and yet there didn’t seem to be a moment where she could drag him along for a more private meeting. Whether it was Siesta or Louise, she could never find a right time to strike. Worst thing was, he often acknowledged her; engaged in small talk, even, and yet he stayed by these two.

To think she’d ever be jealous of a commoner maid… granted, it seemed like Siesta and Ed hit it off incredibly well. Something about their relationship reminded her of her own relationship with Tabby. Watching these two become friends in such a short amount of time was almost heartwarming to watch. If only she wasn’t in the way of her conquest… but nobody said Kirche’s plans and Ed’s friendship with Siesta had to be mutually exclusive.

As for Louise, it was most likely the familiar runes making him so amiable towards her. He was very casual and disrespectful, but strangely, the pinkette didn’t seem as bothered by it as Kirche would suspect. Perhaps she clung to the fact that the summoning was her sole magical success in her two years of education at the academy. Unless… unless she was a Void Mage.

“…hey, Tabby.” They were in her room. The little Gallian bookworm was reading as always, curled up on her bed while Kirche rested on its other end. “I was wondering… do you think little Louise could be a Void Mage?”

Luckily, the redhead wasn’t looking at her friend when asking this, else she would pick up on how Tabitha tensed uncomfortably. The rumors circulated around the academy ever since Louise had summoned the half-demon and he together with Professor Colbert said the magic word. “Gandálfr”. She doubted the runes would be misread by an educator at the most prestigious magic academy in the world.

Sooner or later, she would have to take action… “Tabby? Are you okay?” The bluenette snapped back to reality. Kirche was closer now, looking unusually worried. “You need to stop spacing out on me like that, dear.”

“Sorry. Was thinking.” Not false. “And… uh, don’t know.”

“Liar.” Tabitha froze up again. “You’re too smart not to know something.” Oh, she was just teasing her. Slowly, the bluenette breathed a sigh of relief. “Still, I suppose not even you know all the answers… but wouldn’t that be a funny thought? Louise the Zero, the little screechy Louise actually being a Void Mage?”

“Unusual, certainly. Would explain all the explosions.” Kirche let out a soft coo, stretching on the bed. It did good things to her chest, Tabitha noticed, before killing that thought where it stood. She couldn’t get distracted. The redhead was a friend – an incredibly affectionate, overbearing friend – and that was already quite a distraction, albeit a welcome one. She had a mission to finish, much as she loathed it.

And then somebody knocked at the door. Tabitha looked up from her book, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, I’ll go get it.” Kirche offered to answer the knocking, shuffling off the bed and stretching once more before she opened it. Lo and behold, they were visited by the most unlikely guest: Ed of Germania himself.

“Oh shit, sorry, I thought that’s, uh, Tabitha’s room…” He muttered, seeing a widening smile on Kirche’s face.

“Oh no, come in, come in. It’s the right place alright.” She sang, hands wrapping around his wrist and pulling him in with a surprising amount of strength. It looked like this was the right room, after all; the tiny form of Tabitha was there at the bed, slowly shuffling up to a sit. “Tabby, look who graced us with his manly presence~”

“Yeah, uh, that’s real nice and all, but I’m here for business reasons, so to say.” This would never not be awkward. Eddie wasn’t shy by any means of the word and eager teens were not unknown to him, but both the fact that he had a girlfriend and the fact that Kirche was awfully passionate about her attempts was just a little bit off-putting.

“Business can be mixed with pleasure, you know.” The redhead purred, but then Tabitha decided to save her unlikely guest and cleared her throat. Kirche made a little pout, but then conceded the matter and shuffled back on the bed.

“Thanks for the save. Won’t take much of your time.” The room looked fairly reminiscent of Louise’s, though with less frills and more books. It definitely seemed like Tabitha was much more practical in manner. Honestly, it felt a little too organized, as if to cover the fact that there wasn’t much in the room to begin with. “So I’m looking for a book. Something like “Magic for Morons”, you know what I’m saying?” Tabitha liked to think so, but what would such a book be for? Was Louise’s familiar planning to educate her himself? No doubt she would chew him off for bringing a book on basics to her. Perhaps it was for himself then? His power was already great, but the bookworm could see how having a simpler, quicker form of magic would be beneficial to someone who fought with several-second-melodies instead.

“…yes, I should.” Hopping off the bed, Tabitha walked to the bookshelf, perusing through the contents.

“Are you planning to teach little Louise yourself?” Kirche giggled teasingly.

“Something like that, yes.” Wait, he was serious. As the bookworm searched through the book titles slower than usually to try and see if Kirche could coax out more info out of him, her own theories began to resurface. No doubt he held some more talents than just summoning burning airships out of the sky, but…

“Oh my, how bold. Surely you must be aware what a great embarrassment to her family this might be?” The redhead on the bed stretched again with a slight moan and then sat up. “What a gossip story this would be: a Germanian skald knows more of magic than the third of  Vallière family.”

“Let them talk.” Eddie shrugged, idly perusing other book titles himself. Man, it’s been a _while_ since he last read something. Literature was in short supply in the Age of Metal. “They’ll sing a different tune once it works.”

“Oh, by all means! If you can help little Louise with her magic, don’t hesitate to do so.” Teasing or not, Kirche could certainly appreciate an effort to try and make the little pink firecracker reach the level of others. She couldn’t tease her in good faith after she made a summoning, after all.

“Well, if it works. I’m not really much of a teacher.” Meanwhile, Tabitha couldn’t pretend she couldn’t find a book on her own bookshelf any longer. Slowly, she procured the dusty booklet called “The Basics of Magic” and handed it to Eddie without any further ado. “Thanks, Tab.”

“Oh, I like that diminutive!” Kirche exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Short and no-nonsense, just like Tabby herself!” The bluenette realized she’s actually blushing from an influx of attention and only replied with a nondescript grunt. “What do you think, Tab?~”

“…like Tabby more.” She finally said, choosing to find the darkest corner of her room and hide in it, feeling unusually embarrassed about the matter. “Glad I could help.” She didn’t look at Eddie either, but nobody seemed to think this was a bother.

“Thanks again. I’ll get it back to you in a few days or so.” Waving goodbye, he was gone as soon as he came in, much to Kirche’s disappointment. Still, it seemed that there was so much more to Ed of Germania than just overwhelming power and carnally pleasing music, and that was enough to make her smile despite his absence.

“He really is something else.” She hummed dreamily. Tabitha, meanwhile, couldn’t help but mentally kick herself for being so slow on the uptake this time. What could a half-demon wielding music-based magic teach someone but his own craft? But if that was the case, what did he need the basics of Brimiric Magic for…?

\----

And so began Eddie Riggs’ quick course of education on local magic. A bumpy ride, this was. As it turned out, the intricacies of the system only seemed straightforward at the first glance. Five elements – the classic four and Void – magic cast with a use of a focusing item, doesn’t use some arbitrary “mana” but rather the willpower of the caster – so it was possible to pass out from casting too much. So far, so good.

The difficulty began afterwards. The Dot-Line-Triangle-Square rank did not indicate power, or at least not in the straight sense of the word; instead it was a number of elements you could put on a particular spell. To throw a flaming rock, you’d have to mix Fire and Earth together and to throw a larger flaming rock, you’d have to add one more Fire and one more Earth. Of course, that combination could very well be used for something else entirely, limited only by the incantation and the imagination of the caster.

Emotions were also a factor when casting; a welcome notion by Eddie. What he was about to present was based on belief and power of music; one had to feel like they were on fire for maximum efficiency. Or maybe he was just thinking that at the moment? Really, he was probably going to wing it, as always. Having some logical backdrop could help, but winging it had yet to fail him. Perhaps it really was just a force of belief. Cross your fingers and hope it works.

At least comparing the Brutal elements with Helkeginia elements was easy enough. Fire was Fire. Metal was Earth. Noise was Air. Blood was Water. Would that help? He had no idea. Was it important? He sure thought so. For now, Eddie was staring at a glass of water in front of him, twirling his pick between his fingers. It made no sense to him, really. He was about to raise the water from the glass and do a snake charmer routine with it, all with a single short solo.

Still made no sense, but here he went. Clementine hummed quietly as Eddie kept a measured slow tempo, giving birth to a melody akin to the water in the glass; calm and one-tone. It began to raise in color and tone and the water stirred. Then, he raised it some more and the water slowly arose from the glass in a form of a watery serpent. Yeah, he was making it work somehow! The construct was proving to be incredibly responsive; it didn’t take long for Eddie to have it spin around and do complicated shapes with its body, not spilling the slightest drop. He was surprised himself, honestly.

He was doing it though, and the melody only grew bolder and more adventurous. He wasn’t playing to impress or to gather attention like it was back at the summoning or when showing Guiche what-for. This was just for himself, for Eddie’s very love of music and the sense of accomplishment. The magic was in the air like threads of silk and he was the one who would weave a beautiful melody out of them.

Eventually, the tone started to even out and the serpent became more docile each time the decibels were lost, slowly retreating into the confines of the glass. Clementine purred in satisfaction as the consensus was found and the water serpent finally dissipated. Eddie had one conclusion: it still made no sense. However, that had its own advantages. First and foremost, there would be no rules saying that something cannot be done. They were going into the land where no mage and no roadie have gone before; a land of pure imagination, of fantasy and of unfulfilled dreams that they would fulfill. Rigid order had no place there.

There was only a single obstacle: Louise’s elemental alignment. If she really was a Void Mage, that meant she would not be able to manipulate the classic four no matter how hard she tried. However, if Void was a thing talked about in hushed whispers, that it only had a few masters of – if any – that knew its spells… it was up to him to devise some on the fly, or perhaps pick up the existing ones and alter them accordingly.

…his days of D&D back in a day would come in handy now.

“My word…” Siesta’s voice brought him back. The maid must have let herself in after hearing the music coming from Louise’s room. She was carrying a guitar-shaped package, though the way her eyes were wide open and mouth agape in wonder, one had to wonder if she was going to accidentally drop it out of shock.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, I was lost in thought.” He replied with a shrug before inviting her in with a gesture. The maid looked around – almost as if expecting a pink-haired noble to jump her for disturbing her quarters – before slowly shuffling in. “That’s the bass, I take?”

“Y-yes. Let me unwrap it…”

“Why wrap it up like this in the first place?”

“Oh, there would be uncomfortable questions if I just paraded with it.” Siesta explained, reluctantly putting the package on Louise’s bed and beginning to undo it, hands shaking from excitement. “Plus, um, I’m not paid t-to be a musician, after all.” That made sense. Given how touchy the local kids were about their “nobility”, some snot would no doubt tell on her to the higher-ups if he felt like the bass offends their sensibilities.

“Well, hope that’s gonna change. You might be making history there, Siesta.” Eddie chuckled, causing the maid to turn rosy. “Might as well show these snobs commoners can do magic too.”

“Um… it’s s-still a little improper. Can we try for s-secrecy?” She suggested meekly. And again, it made sense. If there were heretics, there had to be people who hunted them down, and something told Eddie that Helkeginian witch hunters were not a cheery sort. “I’d loathe to… um… cause trouble for you or M-Miss Vallière…”

“Actually, I’ve an idea for that, but we’ll need the pinky here first.” The bass was finally unwrapped. Dusty and slightly worn down from the use and no proper way to keep it maintained, but it was a Thunderhog’s bass alright. “Man… I’m getting all nostalgic by just seeing it. May I?” Siesta wouldn’t hand her guitar to anyone without a very good reason, but Eddie was a fellow man – maybe an only one – of fellow music. A “metalhead” as he called her earlier today.

“Please. I’d be honored.” The maid smiled at the roadie, watching how his hands – seemingly too big and too rough to handle such a delicate instrument – cradled the bass not unlike how she cradled it. Soon he began strumming, and the room was filled with a pleasant, soothing melody. Every time Siesta played it, she felt so much better than prior to playing it, almost as if she took a relaxing warm bath, the kind that the nobles liked so much. In Eddie’s hands, the effect seemed even stronger. Each murmur of her grandfather’s guitar gave her strength and power. In fact, it seemed like her hands were smoothing out!

There was no mistaking it; the calluses from her servant labor were slowly but surely going away. Siesta sucked in a breath, watching in disbelief as the music healed her. By the time Eddie was finished – and he took a moment to appreciate the familiar tune – there was nary a trace that these hands belonged to a maidservant and not to a young heiress or even a princess herself!

The roadie finished and for a moment, there was nothing silence. Siesta was stumped, lost for words, mystified. “How much did your grandpa tell you about his past?” Eddie asked, putting the bass down.

“Um? I mean, er… I…” Curses, she couldn’t even find coherency at the end of her tongue. “Yes.” The roadie raised an eyebrow. Before Siesta could combust on the spot from embarrassment, he waved off the question with a chuckle.

“Sorry, that must be a lot of stuff to take in. First that water serpent, then the bass… anyway, Thunderhogs are healers.” He explained. Recognition dawned upon the maid’s face. “The kind that pushes all the blood back into you, you know.” He grinned slightly.

“…ah… I… I see. Every time I would play it, I felt better and refreshed. I thought it’s just because it brought me such joy, but… are you saying the guitar itself is enchanted?”

“Nope. It’s just an ordinary bass.” Siesta blinked. “But because it’s a Thunderhog playing it, it can do wonders.” What was he… oh. The maid scurried back to her feet, shaking her head rapidly.

“Oh no, t-that surely can’t be it… I m-mean, it was my g-grandfather that was, um, a Thun…thunderhog, not me…”

“You’re one fourth a ‘hog, Siesta.” Now that was a sentence the maid would never expect to hear. “You could be one half, one sixth, one no matter. There’s magic inside you, girl.”

“B-but… I mean… b-but that’s heresy…”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m happy to have you here.” Siesta blushed again, but Eddie wasn’t done. “In fact, before we even start, I’d like to give you something.”

“Pardon?” Her unlikely soon-to-be teacher procured a small pendant. It looked like nothing she recognized. The closest thing she could compare it to would be a sword going through the table, perhaps? It was made of metal, a little rusty, but its integrity could not be questioned. Eddie approached her with the pendant before putting it on her neck. It was hard  not to blush now that he was so close.

“This once belonged to a Fire Baron, a guy from a, let’s say, tribe not unlike the Thunderhogs.” He explained once he shuffled back. “They and several others form a group that I have a pleasure to be a part of, the Ironheade.” Eddie smiled warmly and – very gently –patted Siesta’s shoulder. “And I’d be honored to have you on board, fellow metalhead. What do you say?”

The freshly christened Ironheade’s heart soared with joy as she stared at the towering figure smiling down at her. It was no use fighting off her blush, but Siesta didn’t care much for that, nor did she care much for the tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks. “Yes. Yes, threefold yes!” She flew right into him, trying to embrace him in the heat of the moment. It didn’t matter that it was the height of misconduct, or even that the notion seemed to embarrass Eddie himself.

“There, there…” He laughed awkwardly, not sure whether to hug her back, pat her shoulder, pat her head or just stand there and let her cry out thanks into his chest. Still, he could get why she was so elated. For the first time, she met someone with the same love of music and metal,  and someone who welcomed her with open arms, nonetheless. It might very well have been the happiest day of her life.

…and, well, much as he felt a little silly for admitting this, she was pleasantly soft. An ideal cuddler.

“…familiar. What, pray tell, are you and this maid doing?” Oh. Oh crap. Slowly, Eddie – and judging by the rustle on his chest, Siesta as well – turned to see one Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière, looking very much irked. One hand on her spellwand and the other resting resolutely on her hip, the pinkette seemed just about ready to explode, face red with indignation.

“Meep.” That was all Siesta had to say.


	8. For Those About To Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louise does the magic.

There was a long, pregnant silence. Then, Louise took a deep breath and aimed her spellwand at the riding crop in the room. _“Levitate.”_ She intoned through gritted teeth, trying – and failing – not to show her increasing agitation. Of course, all the crop did was jump a little and fall on the floor, rattled by a small explosion.

Siesta made an unidentified sound split between fear and embarrassment. “…fine. I don’t need magic for this.” Louise took another deep breath and then marched inside the room, stepping briskly towards the crop. Sensing trouble, Eddie pried the hapless maid off him and put her behind himself.

“Uh, Louise, this is not what it—“ The pinkette would not let him finish, grabbing the crop and delivering a surprisingly swift blow meant for his face, barely blocked. Still stung. “Ow! Hey, let me expla—“

“I cannot believe it! Fraternizing with a maid! In my Brimirdamned room!” Each exclamation was punctuated with a swipe of Louise’s crop, and each smarted the same.

“Fuck’s sa-ow-sake, Louise, can you-ow-stop swinging that?!” The pinkette wasn’t feeling like stopping, no.

“Lady V-vallière! Please, p-please stop!” The only reason Siesta didn’t jump between Eddie and his agitated Master – having gathered the courage and fully prepared to hurt all over her face – was because a massive arm kept her from moving any closer… which in turn exposed the owner of that arm’s face.

Not thinking much, Eddie went for the last escape route. Louise’s eyes widened and she let out a surprised gasp to see her familiar catch the crop’s head with his teeth. There was this awkward silence again, but this time the agitation gave way to realization and resignation. Making a nondescript sound, her grip on the crop tightened for a moment before she let go, causing it to awkwardly hang in Eddie’s mouth. He made a nondescript sound in return and pulled it out. Ugh. Leather.

“T-this is all my fault!” Siesta said, finally able to move from behind the roadie, bowing her head in shame. “I was the one w-who c-came to Sir E-ed, and…”

“No. It’s fine.” Louise replied, tone devoid of color and eyes looking anywhere but at the two. “It’s inexcusable of me, taking out my frustrations on either of you.”

“…hey, uh, you want to talk about this, maybe?” Eddie’s voice cut in, a little uncertain. He was no therapist, for crying out loud, but it looked like Louise could really use someone – anyone – to talk to. If he had to guess, there were no therapists in Helkeginia.

“There’s nothing to discuss, familiar.” Somehow, he didn’t buy it. “…I apologize for blowing up on you. You were not doing anything that would warrant such a violent reaction. You simply caught me surprised, but I should know better than to explode like that.” Eddie could only be grateful that she did not explode, metaphorically or otherwise. Still, that stubborn pride of hers was unwilling to let in a thought that perhaps she needed some aid too, and not the one on her magic either. “Now… I believe we were scheduled for class.” Oh right, he had to let her know that she would be having a classmaid.

Eddie bit back a groan of incredulity. That was a shitty pun even by his standards. “Yeah. I don’t suppose you’ve got some lute or zither or whatever?”

“No, I do not… although I know of someone who does.” It seemed an idea ran across Louise’s mind as she smirked slightly. At least her humor seemed to be back. “Do excuse me for a moment. I must call in a favor.” And then she was gone, stepping resolutely to only she knew where.

“Huh.” The roadie looked back to the classmaid – stop it, Eddie’s brain – who was still shivering a little. “You okay, Siesta?”

“…I think so. We’re still alive.”

“…are you cracking a joke or do you think she’d go that far?” A bit of a pregnant silence, but then the maid shook her head.

“Miss Vallière is… um, a bit haughty, but she never caused… um… trouble for me or other servants in the academy.” Siesta blushed faintly, embarrassed with her attempt at levity. “I think she’s… rather nice. As far as students go, at least.”

“Well, maybe once I figure out that whole business she’ll have less reasons to be angry…”

\----

Kirche couldn’t help but just stare. It was none other than Louise the Zero – well, no longer Zero – standing at the doorstep to Tabitha’s room. “Well, you’re a rather unlikely guest, little Louise.” No need to be inhospitable. The redhead smiled and made way for the pinkette to come in. “How can we help you?”

“How can _you_ help me, Zerbst.” Oh. Now that was even more unlikely. Tabitha perked up on the bed, Kirche noticed. Must have been surprised too. The redhead couldn’t think of many things that she could offer to Louise… unless this was her coming out ceremony, or she wanted to do something about that chest of hers or—

Ah, no need to go that far. Let her say it herself. “My my. What would our parents think?” She giggled, sitting back on the bed. That got a reaction out of the little Vallière, though less of a screechy embarrassed bristle and more of an annoyed huff.

“Look, don’t make it weird, alright? I need your harp.” Once more, Kirche couldn’t help but stare at Louise, eyebrow slowly raising. Tabitha shuffled a little in her corner.

“… _was?_ I mean, what?”

“A harp. I know you have one. I’d like to borrow it.” Kirche vividly recalled the little pinkette saying she could not play any instruments. What was that about? “…please.”

“Hm. Well, I cannot stop you from trying to learn an instrument…” What a strange, strange conversation this was. Still, Kirche had a spare – and one more for Tabitha, if she ever managed to convince her Gallian friend to try it out – so it wasn’t a big deal either way. “But what do I get out of this, little Louise? Such harps are hard to come by in Tristain.”

“…date with Ed.” Kirche made a strange sound and blinked. It took the scheming third of Vallière family some restraint not to smirk triumphantly. It was _that_ easy to play that fire strumpet. “You want to try your luck with him, be my guest.”

“You’re awfully generous, Louise.” The redhead giggled, but the giggle came off as somewhat nervous. Did… did she blush? No, the pinkette must have been seeing things. “Of course, I can accept such a good deal.”

“Then you can have him by the weekend. Is this agreeable?” Kirche nodded without a word. “Splendid. If you’d be so kind to get me that harp then…”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Give me a moment. I’ll be right back, Tabby.” Off the redhead went, leaving Louise near-grinning like a doofus.

“Planning to play like Ed?” Tabitha inquired after a moment, inviting her onto the bed. The pinkette took the invitation, albeit only having a seat at the edge of it.  

“I suppose it’s not much of a surprise. I need to learn how to strum an instrument in the first place, but… hey, at this point I’ll take it.” Louise blinked, surprised with her own words. She was a little desperate, but she didn’t expect to admit it out loud.

“Hm. Not worried this might be heresy?” The bluenette asked a very valid question. Worried? Oh no, she was _terrified_. She was terrified of a notion that she could be a Void Mage, or that she could be engaging in pagan rituals. Nobles of greater station were burned at the stake for much, much less. She has heard stories of Romalian witch hunters, each more terrifying than the other.

But that fear was quenched right there by her desperation. She _wanted_ magic. She _wanted_ to become a respected mage who could proudly represent her family and her country. Nothing stated that she couldn’t command terrifying music from another world to cast her spells… right?

…there was still the whole “may or may not be a Void Mage” thing to figure out, but Louise would open that can of worms once she was done with the first one. “…a bit, but… I think it’s worth trying.” At worst, not even Eddie would be able to teach her and she would simply become her betrothed’s wife. Jean-Jacques was a picture-perfect gentleman, so she would not have to worry about being unhappy in marriage. It was the expected fate; something she had learned to accept if things wouldn’t have panned out the way they did.

…at best, she’d have to probably content with every political power and the Church itself. _Wait, that doesn’t seem like “the best”…_ , she thought to herself before shaking her head. “Brimir’s balls, I cannot just mop around, can I?” Louise turned to grin at Tabitha. “I’m a Vallière. It’s my responsibility to improve and better myself, all the time. We carry the torch for Tristain’s nobles and commoners alike; a shining beacon that fulfills every obligation of a Nobility Code… and I’d rather be stripped of my status and privilege than give up on my dreams!” She hadn’t realized that her voice was steadily rising until she was almost screaming, nor had she noticed that her hand curled into a fist and shook high to the skies (or Tabitha’s room’s ceiling, in that regard).

She did notice however that the room’s host was just kind of staring at her, eyes wide and mouth agape, and that in turn caused her to deflate somewhat. “Oh, um… sorry. I don’t know why I went there.” She wasn’t that boisterous usually, no. Was Eddie rubbing off on her?

“No, it’s fine. I liked it. Very… very powerful.” Tabitha shook her head once she too gathered her bearings. It was an unusual look she was wearing: a warm, encouraging smile. Then, the bluenette shuffled closer and embraced the other girl. Louise made a surprised squeak. “Good luck, okay? You can do it.”

“Oh, um… y-yes, I’d like to think so.” Awkwardly, the pinkette returned the hug… just in time for Kirche to come back with her harp.

“There you go, Lo-well, look at that.” The Germanian redhead couldn’t help but grin; that both Louise and Tabitha were growing increasingly redder was just a cherry on top. “You should have just told me that you want to have some alone time with Tabby~”

“T-t-t-that’s not…!”

“Shall I play a love song on this here harp?” Kirche giggled and gently strummed the strings.

“Damn you, Zerbst!”

\----

By the time Louise was back in her room, Eddie and Siesta had already gone through one melody he devised to help boost her ability to heal and fix people. It was fast asleep, but with training it would be possible to wake that power up. Before long, she’d be jamming like a first-rate Thunderhog or his name wasn’t Edward Riggs.

It all set a good precedent. Yes, Siesta had the benefit of a good blood and the prior experience with the guitar, but otherwise had no idea about magic. Louise, for her apparent failures, knew the theory, the nitty-gritty details hidden in papers and parchments. Plus, even if her spells failed, the explosions were something else. There was raw power hidden there; all he had to do was to uncover it and unleash it.

“Sorry for the wait. I had to… deal with being held hostage by a certain Germanian…” Louise mumbled as she shuffled inside the room, holding the harp. Eddie raised an eyebrow. Well, this was probably as good as they were going to get for the time being, but he had to fix her a guitar, or at least a lute. “Ah… the maid is still here?”

“Yeah, I didn’t say it earlier. Siesta here will be studying the guitar with you.” The maid nodded meekly, trying not to wilt under Louise’s questioning gaze. “I guess she’s kind of your upperclassman.”

“Funny. Sure, I’ve no objections.” Oh. That was unexpected. Eddie blinked. “What’s with that look, familiar? We’re already dabbling into heresy. If you trust her, then I shall trust your judgment.”

“Oh, uh… right. Louise, uh, you sure you’re okay? You seem a little… different?” The pinkette hummed, more to herself than to the other two as she sat herself down at one of the chairs, holding the harp cautiously.

“I’m… not sure, really.” She finally said, strumming the instrument at random, trying to feel for its sounds and its tone. It was nothing like Eddie’s infernal zither; the sound was soft and harmonic. “…just earlier I gave this big speech to Tabitha about my responsibilities as a noble… you think it’s because of you, Eddie?”

“Well, I’m not much of a spokesman.” The roadie shrugged. “I could fix you a speech once you show everybody you can do magic yourself, I guess?”

“Hm. I wonder how that would turn out… anyway, let us not waste any more time, shall we?” Louise smiled, fingers continuing to absentmindedly strum the harp. “Ah, by the way, Eddie, you’ll have a date in the weekend.”

“Yeah, let’s get to-wait, what?”

\----

And so began Louise’s education on the intricacies of heavy metal.

She had found learning and then playing the harp incredibly relaxing, in fact. It was not the main goal of these lessons, but for the time being Eddie insisted that she learn her instrument first. It made sense; a man-at-arms would not go to war without knowing their weapon. It certainly required much more work than simply swinging her wand.

Once she could produce a simple melody, it was now a matter of what her roadie familiar described as “interpretation of the song”. “You can play the song as it’s written down in the notes. Nothing wrong with that. However, if you want something different, you’ll need to push your limits.” Louise nodded, looking at the notes in front of her. These were for the melody she had studied and for the next ones to come. Fortunately, most nobles could read notes just fine.

“That just sounds like I’d mess up the song as a result…” She mumbled, staring at the notes.

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a trial-n-error.” Eddie nodded. Next to the pinkette, Siesta was recapping the melody provided on her bass, keeping the room filled with pleasantly soothing murmurs. Louise frowned. Her – well, Kirche’s – harp didn’t sound anything like the maid’s guitar or her familiar’s Clementine. “But hey, trial-n-error is basically what it’s gonna be. We gotta try and transcribe classic magic onto these strings right there.” Eddie chuckled. “I’m pretty sure we’re as much in the dark on this as you.”

“Not exactly reassuring, coming from my teacher.” Still, there wasn’t any resignation or irritation in her voice. “Anyway, shall we try a spell?”

“If you think you’re ready for it.” The roadie put down an unlit candle, a few steps away from Louise’s seat. “Think you can levitate it?” The pinkette stared at the candle for a few moments before nodding tersely. Siesta moved back a little, eyes glued to the object of interest.

For the next few moments, Louise’s fingers trembled at the strings, hesitant to begin as she tried to find the sweet spot of her own inner calm. This was it. This was going to be her very first – well, second if she were to count the summoning – spell that she wouldn’t flub. It would take longer to cast compared to an ordinary wand swing, but to hell with that! She’d show them, she’d show every single one of her detractors that she was a Zero no longer.

Slowly, her slender fingers began playing the melody. As Eddie explained earlier, the actual song didn’t matter. It was a backdrop for her magic to flow, and it was a backdrop that she would form with her own will. “Believe-Make”, he called it. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be that easy. She had to put her effort into it. Her heart, her mind, her very soul. For these precious few moments, she had to forget about her fear of heresy, of her feelings of inadequacy, of the people in the room. It was her, Kirche’s harp and that candle.

And she was going to make that fucking candle soar through the skies like the most majestic of dragons.

The melody grew frantic and heated, but something about it was off. Eddie was first to notice, but Siesta caught on as well, eyes widening and one hand over her mouth. Emotions were already a strong part of classic, Brimiric magic. They could amplify the power of a spell or completely alter it. A fireball could become a blazing inferno. A stream would turn into a waterfall.

The levitation spell under these conditions worked. It just didn’t work like intended.

The melody reached its troubled fortissimo… and the candle rocketed up into the ceiling, hitting it with a dull thud. Louise, her eyes having closed at some point during the melody, gasped and looked up sharply to see the candle stuck on the ceiling. “…what…?” A brief moment of silence. The candle slowly dislodged itself and fell down to the floor with a plop.

“…c-congra…tulations… Miss Vallière …?” Siesta offered meek praise in the confusion. Eddie looked at Louise, prepared for the worst. It might have lifted the candle into the air, but sure as hell this was no “levitation”. Much to his relief, the pinkette didn’t seem discouraged; if anything, she was mesmerized by the sight of the candle wax on the ceiling.

“…you know, if that ceiling wasn’t in the way, I’ve got this startling feeling that candle would kiss a cloud or two.” Eddie hummed after a while before offering a thumbs-up to dumbstruck Louise and an encouraging grin. “Congrats.”

“…I… I don’t even…” The pinkette mumbled, finally tearing her eyes off the ceiling and looking at the candle on the floor. “…hey, uh… it wasn’t either of you? You didn’t do it to make me feel better or anything?”

“Pretty sure that’d be selling you short.”

“Ah, um, I wouldn’t dare to impose upon your progress, Miss Valli—“

“Louise.” Siesta squeaked in surprise. The third of the Vallière family smiled radiantly at the maid. “…I think… I think we’re equals here, at the very least. There’s no need for formality.” Siesta squeaked again, blushing faintly. “I’m sorry, I… I just feel like there’s something in my eye…”

Eddie nodded. It wasn’t perfect yet, and she probably had a long way to go still, especially if she were to stick with that harp and not a proper guitar… but this was her very first step towards excellence.


	9. Train of Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Kirche head out to Tristania and find a troublingly familiar item...

When Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière showed up to Miss Chevreuse’s class with a harp instead of a wand, everybody not in the know assumed she lost her mind.

She didn’t appear to be mad, despite this certain notion. If anything, there was a certain degree of confidence to her now; the confidence of someone who knew what they were doing. As she explained, an extensive discussion with Headmaster Osmond confirmed that it is possible for her to use magic via the use of an instrument as a focus. An unusual notion, baffling even – but there was nothing inherently wrong with it. Emotions were a factor when casting spells, and if there was anything that could rouse a heart, it was a touching melody.

Of course, not everybody was happy with that alteration; chiefly Montmorency. Her beautiful blond knight was still withdrawn and reticent after heretical magicks, courtesy of Ed of Germania – if that was his real name; for all Monmon knew Zero might have very well summoned a demon - overpowered his peerless golems. Kirche and her Gallian friend seemed to find nothing strange in this violation of standards – as expected of foreigners. There was no shortage of students still ridiculing the bratty Vallière, though the blonde was quick to nip any rumors as if Guiche threw the fight on purpose in the bud. He wouldn’t stoop so low as to collaborate with Zero of all people!

…maybe the Germanian demon taught her his heretical magic?

“Well, if you are so confident in your new focus, Miss Vallière…” Miss Chevreuse gestured towards the lump of ore on her desk. “Can I ask you to levitate this nugget?”

“I’ll do my best!” The pink snot rose from her seat, harp in her hands. Hushed whispers surfed through the class, curious just what was going to happen. An even bigger explosion? A fat lot of nothing? Something else entirely? Could Zero, possibly, pull off her very first successful spell?

The slow, soothing melody filled the class as Louise’s fingers moved between the strings, creating a bedrock for the nugget to rise from. Monmon had to admit that it was pleasing to the ear. Maybe Zero could make a career as a wandering musician after they inevitably expelled her from the academy…? She stared intently at the pinkette before a hushed gasp brought her attention to the nugget. The blonde’s eyes widened in disbelief: lo and behold, the lump of ore was slowly rising into the air.

But Louise wasn’t done. The melody suddenly became so much richer in tone and color. The nugget began to spin. Then her fingers rose to the top of the harp and it flew another few feet towards the ceiling. Her eyes were closed to focus, but she was smiling, knowing that the bare minimum had been achieved. Now to dazzle her audience. She practiced this particular melody for two nights without a pause. Her fingers felt like they could come off at any moment.

But it was worth it. The melody began to shift up and down, and with it went the nugget, approaching the students in a slithering manner, up and down, up and down. Louise pulled the melody back to the original pace, then slowed it some, finally finishing with a flourish that set the nugget down on Miss Chevreuse’s desk. Her fingers moved back and she bowed slightly before sitting back down.

For the most pregnant of moments she feared that she would get scolded, ridiculed, chastised. “I… must say, this was one strange show.” The teacher said, carefully measuring her voice. “Strange as it was however, I find nothing improper in it. Congratulations, Miss Vallière. It was an excellent spell.” Louise felt her cheeks turning rosy from praise.

And then Kirche started clapping. “Bravo! An applause to our little Louise!” She called, rising from her seat. Tabitha joined in almost immediately, but others were still torn between disbelief and confusion.

Guiche was the third to join, face most serious to say he was not doing so to mock or spite her. Then it was just a roaring mess of encouragements, compliments and all-in-all merriment as Louise suddenly became aware that being so unanimously complimented can be a bit of a daunting experience, trying not to turn into a tomato. The one person who did not clap was Montmorency, if only because she was still trying to pick her jaw off the floor.

And unknowingly to everybody in the room, a small familiar mouse monitored the class from a safe spot.

\----

“Well, this is a very pleasing development.” Osmond nodded approvingly, tuning out the communication between himself and Chuchu. Eddie blinked, trying to fight back a feeling of dizziness. To see through the eyes of a familiar – as supported by the Headmaster’s apparatus - was one hell of an experience, especially when it skittered about as much as Osmond’s mouse. “I must say, Mr. Riggs, you’ve surprised me yet again.”

“Happy to please, dude.” It was time for a celebratory smoke. He reached down for a cig… only to realize that he was out of cancersticks. “Oh… oh son of a—“

“No worries, no worries.” The Headmaster laughed, snapping his fingers. The cabinet nearby opened to reveal his own pipe, but this time there was one more on a shelf below. “I’ve come prepared.” Eddie looked at the other pipe with a raised eyebrow. He wasn’t really used to fancy stuff like this, but given the situation, he’d indulge just this once.

To Osmond’s credit, the provided pipe and the tobacco for it were most excellent. “I feel like a noble just by smoking the thing.” The roadie chuckled, savoring the exotic taste. “So, I trust you don’t have any objections about Louise using an instrument?”

“Not after this artful display, no. If someone tries to appeal to the tradition, I will handle it.” The wizened Headmaster assured with a nod. Unlike Eddie he could quite reliably puff out clouds of smoke in most peculiar shapes. These weren’t mere circles, no. “Though I believe that Miss Zerbst’s harp is just a replacement for the time being?”

“Yeah. I’ll be heading to that Tristania town tomorrow, maybe I can find something for her there.”

“I fear that an ordinary lute might not be what you are looking for.”

“Probably not, but I should be able to fix a guitar out of one.” Osmond nodded, looking out the window. “…we still keeping the whole Void Mage thing hidden?”

“Please do. The time to reveal that might be closer than we’d like, but for now let’s not dwell on that.”

\----

Today was the day Louise sold him out to Kirche. For a harp.

Eddie chuckled. Well, it’s all in good sport, plus he needed to hit the town. Having someone more knowledgeable about the local geography could come in handy. He just needed to get one thing straight out of the way.  

“Ah, there’s my burly barbarian~” The redhead was very pleasing to the eye, there were no doubts about that. It seemed her off-school clothing was a buttoned shirt and a pair of leather pants. He could hear a few passing whispers muttering something about “Germanian indecency”. Oh right, women weren’t supposed to wear pants in the Middle Ages, or something like that.

“Hey. You mind if we do this whole date thing in Tristania? I need to do something there.”

“No problem at all. It’s a bit of a ride from here…” Kirche looked towards the main entrance on the academy grounds and the road that grew from there. “but for a date like this I’m willing to compromise some.”

“Don’t worry about the ride, I’ve got us covered.” He replied with a shrug, getting a hold of his infernal zither again. The redhead watched intently as the flames suddenly appeared behind him, just like during that time at Vestri Court when Guiche went briefly catatonic. For a moment she thought that he might be summoning a functioning airship this time, but this tune sounded vastly different, so it was likely not going to be that. Plus, fun as it would be, traveling on an unidentified airship to Tristain’s capital could be a little difficult to explain without stirring diplomatic unrest. The last thing she wanted was for her family to try and pull her back home even sooner.

Kirche had it right, it was no airship. It was the next best thing. It reminded her of the elusive steam-powered carriages in the capital of Germania, and yet it couldn’t have been more different from those ponderous mammoths. This one was sleek, painted black with flame designs on the sides. It had no roof, a massive slab of metal in front and pipes belching out pure flame in the back. Also, its seats looked pleasantly cushy.

“I call it the Druid Plow. Guys back home would call it Deuce instead.” Kirche blinked. That was an oddly specific name, and yet she would not find it in her to question this detail as Eddie hopped in, one hand on the steering wheel and the other nonchalantly opening the doors for the passenger seat. “Hop in.” She wasn’t going to question it. Whatever Druid Plow was, it was _beautiful_ , and she would loathe to miss such an opportunity and not ride it.

“I have no words, Ed.” She hummed, getting comfortable in her seat. Perfect. “It’s the first time I’m seeing something like this, and I’m already deep in love with it.” The close proximity of her burly driver wasn’t half-bad either. Eddie chuckled.

“Then let’s be off.” And then the Deuce roared, giving everybody present at the courtyard a solid scare. In a nearby building, Miss Loungeville dropped her cup of tea. Kirche, meanwhile, couldn’t help but make a nondescript sound mixed between fear, amazement and confusion. They were going, and they were going _fast_ , much faster than any steam carriage would. She flew on manticores before, so she wasn’t a stranger to high speeds, but these were always in the air, where the perception of distance could become slightly blurry.

The Deuce was as direct as they come; they were thundering through the road to Tristania at speeds previously unseen in Tristain, and the sensation was mindblowing.

\----

“Okay, so let’s get one thing straight out of the way.” Eddie said at some point. They have since slowed down a little, but by Kirche’s estimation they were still going to make it to Tristania in fifteen minutes or so, maybe even less. The redhead looked towards him with a curious gaze. “I know you’ve got your designs on me. You ain’t secretive about it either.”

“What about it?”

“Well, uh… I kind of already have someone?” Wow, that felt awkward to say. “And I’m like fifteen years older than you or so.”

“Well, I do prefer mature men first.” Kirche laughed, pulling her head back, enjoying the sun’s gentle caress combined with that of the high-speed wind’s. “But I suppose I cannot interfere if you already have a sweetheart. If I tried that with Guiche, Monmon would tear my hair out…” After being familiarized with Monmon, Eddie was inclined to agree. “Maybe you could introduce me to her some other time?”

“Hard to do that when you’re on the other end of the world and bound by a Familiar contract, innit?”

“Touche. A shame, but I should have really seen that coming. A man like you obviously has to have a dearly beloved. What is she like?” It was subtle, but Eddie’s face brightened a little. Kirche smiled. Not having the man she wanted stung, but seeing a relationship blooming was always heartwarming to her.

“Oh man, I don’t know where to start. Ophelia’s great. She’s smart and funny and super pretty and we just kind of clicked together, know what I’m saying?” Yup. He was hopelessly in love. “I wish I could explain it any better, but it’s just… love.”

“Love’s silly like that.” Kirche agreed, expression briefly turning melancholic. For a moment neither of them said a word.

“Another thing. I don’t know what the bad blood between you and Louise is, but try not to bully her anymore.”

“Done. Now that she’s a certified non-Zero, I cannot tease her about magic in good faith.” Well, at least she was proving surprisingly agreeable. “In hindsight, I should have known better.”

“What do you mean?” They were passing by first buildings. The walls of Tristania were just nearby.

“I was bullied myself. You know how it is; a girl from Germania is no doubt a promiscuous harlot who can’t put two sentences together. Probably an upstart commoner, too.” For the tiniest of moments, Kirche sounded downright bitter.

“What was that term about again?”

“A commoner that became a noble.” The redhead hummed. They passed by a noble’s carriage and its befuddled coachman. She recognized the crest emblazoned on the doors as the one of house Mott. Ugh. “In mainland Germania people can buy their way into nobility, and the old blood scoffs at the idea plenty.”

“I can see why.” They stopped short ways from the main gate, with plenty of confused onlookers observing them. Eddie hopped out of the car and opened the door for his redheaded passenger. Kirche smiled appreciatively and stood up, attracting almost as many eyes as the curious carriage she came in. “There’s this whole “magic is just for nobles” and shit.”

“Indeed. I weathered the insults somewhat, though meeting Tabby helped some.” Kirche smiled fondly. “But then I found her, our little Louise. She slipped under the attention despite her inability at magic back then, surfing on her family name and her explosive personality. I saw her, and I was furious.”

“Furious?” They mingled with the crowd, although Eddie’s formidable posture cut the way for them rather easily. Quite a few people cleared the road before him as if it was a Duke strutting on this pavement, Kirche noticed with amusement.

“Furious, indeed. How come my lifelong rival is a Zero? That just wouldn’t do.”

“Wait, hold the phone. A rival?” The redhead smiled slyly.

“Did she not tell you? House Vallière and House Zerbst have been feuding for the longest of times.” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Our dukedoms are right next to each other, just across the Tristain-Germania border. Louise’s mom and my own have turned the place into a battlefield.” Kirche snickered. “It’s a sight to behold.”

“Does that make you rivals if it’s your families fighting? Why not bury the hatchet?”

“Well, I have no objections to that. Louise, I think, is less inclined to do so. And so, to make sure my imminent rival is a worthy adversary, I tried nagging and prodding her in the right direction, so she can improve on her magic…” The redhead sighed wearily. “But I underestimated how vicious Tristanian nobles can be. However! Now that I’ve seen first-hand what your teachings have given her, I can do nothing but offer her support and encouragement.”

“Thanks, Kirche. I really appreciate that. Louise could use more friends.”

“Couldn’t we all, really?”

\----

Their trip around the capital of Tristain proved fairly uneventful, all things considering, but it didn’t seem like either of them minded walking around the streets of Tristania. After some asking around they even managed to find a shop of a guy who made lutes. It was as good of a start as any if Eddie wanted to fix Louise a proper guitar, but in came the first pressing problem.

Chiefly, he was a little short on cash.

“Should have asked Louise for some pocket change…” He grumbled, perusing his pockets. He had a couple of Écu on him – he fixed a few things around the campus during his spare time and the academy staff was insistent on paying him even when he said there was no need for that – but that likely wasn’t going to be enough to buy a lute or something similar. Maybe the shopkeep was willing to give away some used scraps for free… “Oh man…”

“Something the matter?” Kirche asked, pulling herself away from the selection of harps and zithers hanging from the walls. The luthier’s shop was in a surprisingly good condition, considering that most Tristanian nobles would likely scoff at the idea of _buying_ an instrument. No, if they even considered the idea, they’d have it delivered to their doorstep, and only a very specific, custom-made one.

Perhaps the gentry and the burgess were less restrained about enjoying life than the people above them in the social station, and that was what helped keep the place afloat? “Yeah, uh… you mind lending me some cash?” Ed asked sheepishly, gesturing towards one of the lutes. “I’m a bit short.”

“Not a problem. If a few more Écu is what it takes to make sure you grow me a formidable rival” Kirche smiled knowingly. “then you can have them.”

“Uh, thanks. You’re really doing me a solid there.”

“Think nothing of it.” Without fanfare, she bestowed upon him her coin purse. The luthier behind the counter – an aging man with a walrus mustache – raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. The girl seemed to carry herself like a Germanian, so it was obvious she would be less frugal with her money than the local customers. “Good shopkeep, we shall be having that lute over there.”

“As the lady customer wishes.” No point in complaining over money well-earned. With a slight limp, the luthier went over to take the instrument in question off the wall. “If I may be so boastful, it is the best lute this store had seen.”

For the shortest of moments, Eddie was really grateful that the guy wouldn’t see what he was planning to do with that lute. “Splendid. My friend here will make a great use of it.” Kirche sang and smiled. The roadie masked a nervous laugh with a cough. Thankfully something else diverted everybody’s attention; namely, a scream from across the street. “Ah, what the devil…?”

“Ah, pay it no mind. It must be yet another customer scared away by the ghosts in the swordsmith’s shop.” The two strange Germanian customers raised eyebrows in near-perfect unison. “Supposedly one of his blades is haunted. I’m too much of a scaredy-cat to venture there, but if all these folks are running away screaming, there must be something amiss.”

“Awesome, a haunted blade.” The luthier blinked. That was _not_ the reaction he expected. Then again, perhaps Germanians just were like that. “Wanna check it out, Kirche?”

“Well, we’ve plenty of time to spare. I don’t see why not~”

\----

“You’re here for the haunted sword?” The swordsmith had seen some strange things in back in his day. In this very shop his father and his father’s father supplied the nobles and gentry of Tristain with the finest swords – ceremonial baubles or actual weapons – of the land. It was here where the recently departed Dear King of Tristain acquired his first blade as a mere lad looking to educate himself in the art of warfare and military.

He had Germanian guests before, but never two and never had they been more excited to see the one thing that scared away all customers recently. Thrice-damnable Derflinger! He scared away Count Sauvignion’s son just now by opening his accursed mouth. Well, so to say.

And now these two Germanians wanted to see it, just like that? “Yeah, heard you have one.” The man – dressed strangely even as far as that barbaric nation was concerned – nodded in agreement.

“…I… Brimir dear, I don’t know what to say. You might just be my saviors.” The swordsmith hasted behind the counter and presented the accursed talkative sword. “Take it! Take it away for free if you so please! Words fail to describe how grateful I’d be for that.”

“Man, sounds like that sword really kicked your ass.” Eddie hummed, looking at the blade on the counter. It looked awfully ordinary, really. Its blade was rusted and chipped, the hilt was devoid of any fancy decorations… it was just an old blade.

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way, good sir, but yes, it did.” The swordsmith sighed before grabbing the hilt and slamming the blade down on the counter. “And you, Derf, stop pretending to be a normal sword, you damnable toothpick!”

“Ow! Ya kiss your mother with that mouth?!” Eddie blinked and Kirche’s eyes went wide. The sword just talked. “Yo, you two. Nice meeting ya.”

“And you are absolutely sure you don’t want us to pay you anything for it?” The roadie looked up at the swordsmith suspiciously.

“By Brimir’s beard, I’ll pay you to take it.”

“No need for that.” Kirche laughed, regarding the rusty blade with curiosity. “But aren’t talking swords quite a rarity? In fact, I’ve never heard of one before.”

“I’ll have you know, you beautiful miss, that I’m quite an ancient sword, and I just don’t mean the rust. In fact, ya give me a good polishing and ya’ll be amazed alright!”

“Oh, I’ll have to do that…” Kirche purred softly, gently taking the sword and weighing it carefully. Weapons like these were largely unknown to her in usage, but she could certainly see the advantages to having a self-proclaimed ancient blade on one’s side. “You’ll make for a nice companion, isn’t that right, Ed?”

Eddie did not reply, eyes glued to a specific point. His mouth was left agape and eyes did not leave that spot even when Kirche called to him again. “Ed?” He was in fact staring at one of the swords on the wall. The redhead looked over to examine the sword herself. At first glance it appeared an ordinary – if slightly chipped – length of blade, but its hilt distinguished it from a simple arming sword. It was shaped like a pair of wings, with an iron cross-esque decoration at the bottom of the blade, linking it with the hilt.

The blade itself was adorned with what appeared to be a tablature. Kirche could actually read the notes just fine. What she didn’t know is that this sword was called Battle Cry and once belonged to Lars Halford, the first king of the free peoples of Ironheade and Eddie’s dear friend.


	10. Far Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Three J's we go. At the eastern fringes of Germania, there surely cannot be anything curious to witness. Or is there?

The problem – or one of many problems - with trying to rescue your wingman from another world will inevitably turn out to be a language barrier, or several of them.

The trio of J’s arrived at their new location without problems. Contrary to expectations, riding to another world proved easy enough. Making some sense out of this world was going to be a much more daunting task. The few people they have met so far looked nothing like what they knew about people. Their duds were kind of drab, kind of ordinary, they had no flair or instruments, no kickass engines to speak of. For the people born in the Age of Metal, visiting what someone like Eddie would identify as vaguely medieval-renaissance world told next to nothing.

Also, there was a distinct lack of proper asphalt roads, and for Jamieson in particular that was the worst feeling in the world. “Man, this place sucks.” He was not hesitant in letting others know, but it seemed that the sentiment was reciprocated by Julio and Jenny both. At least they have found some common ground; the Thunderhog biker was still a little apprehensive about the mustachioed Headbanger’s sincerity of wanting to work with his former (and largely unknown) rival.

“No kidding, dude.” Julio quipped in response, idly looking at the wall of trees. They’ve managed to find a semblance of a road, but even that was being a bit too kind; it was more like people just walked here for so long the grass stopped growing. “Nobody speaks normal language, and everybody just… I dunno, they look like they’re afraid of us or something.”

“I guess we do look rather different. Haven’t seen a bike like Jamieson’s anywhere. You think the demons keep everyone under leash here?” Jenny chimed in with her own suggestion.

“Babe, everyone’s looking at us like we’re the demons.” That was true. The few people they’ve met so far generally either ran away from them or tried to attack them. One guy in particular was kind of funny, pulling a tiny length of stick for a weapon on them. Luckily Jamieson beaned him over the head with a convenient tree branch before they could find out what it did.

“You think anyone speaks Metal around these parts?” Their driver asked idly, coming to a stop at the crossroads. The road split into three different ways. Judging by how the westward sign was worn out and broken, it was probably a suggestion not to go there. The other two had some words on them, but the written language of this world was as much lost on them as the spoken one.

“Doubt it. Maybe if they like… had some translating magic or some shit?” Julio suggested, shifting a little in his seat. The back of the Thunderhog bike was a little cramped for two people to be sitting on. “Also, how much fuel left, big guy?”

“Should be enough for another day of riding, but after that we’re gonna have trouble. Which way, dudes?”

“I say east.” Jenny gestured towards the eastward direction. “It looks like going West would be just going to the mountains.” Indeed, they had passed by some in the background a while back. Plus, the broken sign didn’t imply anything good waiting for them West.

“East’s good, I guess.” Julio agreed, but without much conviction. He wasn’t much for planning; and if Jenny said East was good, then who was he to argue with that notion? As long as they could make some progress in finding his wingman, all would be well. It looked like they had a lot, a _lot_ of land to cover.

\----

Some riding later, they’ve managed to stumble into a settlement. Well, the assumption was that it was a settlement. There were some houses, there was a well, a square of sorts… of course, it looked nothing like the usual deal the trio of J’s was accustomed to, but the general idea was there.

Predictably, they had eyes on them the moment they rode in. Julio in particular couldn’t help but shift nervously; Jenny and Jamieson looked similar to the people of this strange world, but him was another matter entirely, and all three of them had already seen that the locals are less relaxed about this than the folks back home.

“I’ll see if I can get some info ‘round. Keep my ride safe, will you?” The Thunderhog nodded at his two erstwhile companions before shuffling off. Hands in his pockets, he made it to the tavern, leaving a Headbanger and a Razor Girl on their own. For a few moments nothing was really happening. It seemed the locals seemed content to just give them stink-eyes and pass by them without a word.

“Man, I really hope we can get a translator around…” Jenny sighed, watching the people pass by. Not a single woman amongst the locals wore pants. What was up with that? “Else we’ll just be stuck here.”

“Yeah, it sucks.” They knew what they were signing up for it, but it didn’t make it any less disheartening. The longer Julio thought about, the dumber this idea seemed in the first place. Of course, doing dumb things – and making them work – was what Ironheade was kind of about sometimes, so it wasn’t all hopeless. “Dunno how big this place is either.”

“Think Jamieson will take long?”

“Unless he finds someone speaking a proper language, yeah, we might be sitting here a while.” At the very least nobody was bothering them. They were looking at them, but either because they were intimidated or else, nobody was approaching them or the ride they were on.

And then things started heating up. “Uh… that kid’s going our way.” Jenny pointed out a little uncertainly, watching the brown-haired youth in drab clothes – ten years old at best, she guessed – make their way to them. There was curiosity in his eyes, and they were probably as curious to the locals as they got. The kid in question didn’t mean to do anything nefarious. As far as he was concerned, it was just a really rare, strange vehicle with equally rare, strange people riding it.

Neither Julio nor Jenny knew what to do. There probably wasn’t any reason to try and chase the kid away from the motorbike; if anything, it could get the people riled up against them, and that was the last thing they needed. Jamieson might have been a bit touchy with it, but even then, this was just some kid who probably never saw a motorbike in his life. The kid spoke to them, curiosity in his tone. “Uh… sorry, little dude, I don’t know whatcha sayin’.” Julio replied helplessly, shrugging. The youth didn’t seem deterred, as if trying to figure out if there was any connection between their languages, and asked another question.

“No, we still don’t understand.” Jenny chimed in with a shake of her head. This time the kid frowned before a thought brightened his face briefly. He made a gesture – that both of the J’s present could figure out meant to be “wait here” – before leaving hurriedly, causing the few observers from the crowd to look at him go. “…huh. You think he knows someone who speaks our language?”

“At this point, I might as well believe it.” Meanwhile, the third of J’s rejoined them, looking very much not in the mood for idle conversation. “Didn’t go well?”

“Everybody just looked at me funny. One guy in particular was causing trouble, so I laid him down with a straight to the face.” Jenny and Julio looked at each other, worry evident on their faces. Jamieson shrugged. “Hey, it’s fine. He was being a bother to that one fine barlady, so I let him know what I think of that kinda bothering.”

“That’s a second guy you knocked out today.” Jenny pointed out with a laugh, but there wasn’t much enthusiasm there. They were trying to avoid trouble, after all. They couldn’t look for Eddie if somebody got them arrested or whatever. Was that a thing here? It probably was a thing here. “Uh, is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s just out cold.” He wasn’t.

Angry screaming from the inn followed as Jamieson’s latest victim barreled out the door, holding his bloodied nose. He looked fairly ordinary face-wise – ignoring the fact that it was all contorted in anger – and had no particularly strange characteristics, but his clothing rather obviously spoke of someone of a higher status. Plus, he held a length of stick not unlike the first guy whom Jamieson knocked out. This time, they got to see what it did just fine: after screaming out some sort of command, the stick’s tip fired a beam of energy that nailed the Thunderhog straight in the gut and sent him flying into a nearby wall.

\----

Rudiger von Wibke, Baronet of Dresden, was not stupid. True, he let his emotions get the better of him once the boorish outsider struck him just for flirting with the waitress, but he had done nothing outrageous! That girl should be proud that a man of his status would find her interesting enough. Many commoners have gone their entire lives without finding such a boon from a noble.

He would punish the outsider within the law. It was rather relaxed here – and he was not the type that would flay such an audacious man alive just for striking him – but a bunch of lashes and the exile from the city would do nicely for both him and his strange friends. They’ve come here on a clearly heretical machine, but he let it slide. The eastern fringes of Germania were more tolerant than most lands of Helkeginia – non-humans socialized with humans just fine (as long as they weren’t elves, of course!) and it had its fair share of oddities. Baronet von Wibke had no choice but to tolerate that.

However, unwarranted aggression was another thing entirely, and these freaks would see first-hand what happened when one crossed Rudiger the Flayer, an accomplished Line Wind mage. What a motley crew this was, too; the other man’s proportions were hideous, making him resemble a stunted dwarf than a proper human being. It paraded around with no shirt and ridiculous facial hair the likes of which even the most foppish of Tristanians wouldn’t wear. The girl behind him dressed like a harlot – expected of a bunch of heretical vagabonds, really – but she was also the most dangerous of the bunch; Baronet von Wibke knew a gun when he saw one, no matter how fantastical it looked, and this one was trained on him at the moment.

The dwarf looked ready to charge at him, but the girl stopped him in their strange language. Brimir dear, _who_ were these people? Did they travel all the way from across the mountains just to pick a fight with him? Silly thought, that, but no. The boor in leathers he hit with a gust of air seemed fine; a little dazed, but otherwise not much worse for wear, picking himself up from where the spell had thrown him. Still, the girl had her gun ready to fire, and he doubted he could conjure a shield fast enough to divert bullets from himself.

His best shot was to appeal to the public. “Good people of Großesache! I, Rudiger von Wibke, Baronet of Dresden, have been attacked by that thug in leather clothing, and defended myself and the honor of a good maid this brigand was accosting!” It was a bold-faced lie, but the commoners didn’t have to know that. Most people in the tavern didn’t care for the spectacle or were too drunk to notice, so all he needed to do was to use their lack of language against them. “My nose is still bleeding, as you can all see. It was broken by that heretic there!”

“It does look pretty bad…” One of the commoners in the crowd replied, a little hesitantly. Baronet’s reputation in this Brimirforsaken village wasn’t the best, but it would still beat out some vagabonds who didn’t know how to treat their betters. “Uh, is Karina okay, Sir Baronet?” Ah, so that was the name of the tavern wench. The more you know.

“In shock, but healthy. Not a hair fell off her head.” He resisted an urge for the dramatic flourish; the vagabond girl looked about ready to shoot him any moment now; any sudden movement could prove fatal. “However, the brigand and his friends are still walking free, and I say that is an affront to you good people!” The whispers amongst the commoners began to change from confused to more uniform. Yes, he was doing it. If things went well, the girl with the gun would turn to shoot someone else. The mob would tear them to pieces then.

The vagabond in leathers tried to make an appeal, but Baronet of Dresden only smirked condescendingly. You could not convince these people of your innocence if they did not understand you in the first place. It wasn’t like he was innocent either, but it was likely that according to his addled commoner brain he was doing a good thing by denying him. Baronet of Dresden would be happy to educate him once it all was concluded.

“Listen not to his heretical ramblings. I assure you he has nothing worth saying.” Von Wibke’s finger pointed accusingly at the leather thug. “Now, although I am a merciful man, I believe you good people should have the freedom of doling out punishment to these monsters in human skin!” Slowly, but surely, most of the crowd was booing and calling for swift judgment. The three vagabonds have grouped together, noting that the climate has become much less advantageous to them in a blink of an eye. Truly, the Baronet of Dresden was one smart man.

“Now, good people of Großesache! Tell me kindly: what is the verdict for these heretics?!” But before the crowd could chant “Death” and doom the three J’s, the help arrived in the nick of time.

“Hold it!”

\----

For a moment, it seemed like their journey would end right there. Before they knew it, the douchebag whose nose Jamieson broke was rousing the crowd against them. He could tell whatever the hell he wanted and they’d believe him. It wasn’t like they could defend themselves anyway if nobody even understood them.

“You know, Jamieson, if we live through this I’ll break your nose in return.” Julio muttered, looking nervously between the douchebag and the crowd. The Thunderhog managed to return to the driving seat, but they were surrounded either way. Trying to cut through the crowd would definitely result in casualties and get a chase on their heads – assuming they wouldn’t just get stuck amongst the locals.

“Shut it, shorty. I did a right thing.”

“Two of you better think of some way out instead of bickering.” Jenny chided, gun still trained on the douchebag. The crowd didn’t seem willing to approach yet, but it was only a matter of time. She could only kill so many people before they tore them to bits, and killing innocents didn’t feel like the right thing to do shortly before expiring. “Jamieson, try putting pedal to the metal. We should be able to ride out of here… Julio, you must make sure nobody hitches a ride with us.”

“Got it.” Her boyfriend nodded tersely…

And then a sharp, commanding voice cut through the air. Everybody – both the J’s and the locals – turned around. The cavalry has arrived! It was a single man, being led by the kid that approached them earlier. He was tall, much taller than even Jamieson, and stuck out like a sore thumb compared to everybody else present; in no small account that was due to short blood red hair and dark skin contrasting against the black of his clothing. Hazel eyes cut sharply into the situation before they relaxed slightly.

The douchebag in charge of the imminent lynching barked sharply at the redhead, but the newcomer didn’t seem to think much of his words. Idly, he brought a meter of stick to his throat and muttered something. The shimmer of air around him didn’t seem to do anything particularly strange, but then…

“Do you three understand me?” He asked, in a clearly recognizable voice.

“Hell yeah! You’re the first person ‘round here speaking some known language!” Julio replied with gusto, pumping his fist into the air. The redhead smirked slightly.

“Perks of a translation spell. Now... before the crowd gets too upset with you, how about you explain what this all is about?”


	11. Bloodstreets

In an unlikely turn of events, a roadie from another world and a Germanian student from Tristain Academy of Magic found themselves staring at a sword from the roadie’s world, just casually displayed on the wall in a Tristanian swordsmith’s shop. They were currently in possession of an enchanted blade capable of speech, but honestly, Eddie couldn’t give a damn about that at the time.

What the hell was Battle Cry doing here? The sword went missing after Lars got killed by Doviculus, likely lost in the chaos that ensued a short while after. How did it end up here? How many more things and people from the Age of Metal were around in Helkeginia? The Fire Baron that saved Osmond’s bacon, Siesta’s granddad, now this… man, it was like that Scandinavian book he read once as a kid. You died in real life, you ended up in a fantasy Purgatory.

…was Lars around then? Did he die again? He wouldn’t just leave his sword lying around to be picked up by some random schmuck, would he? “…dude, that sword… where did you find it?”

“Oh, that curio? Truly, I do not recall.” The swordsmith turned back to look at Battle Cry. “It is not an exaggeration to say that I quite literally found it however. It must be quite ancient; its craft is nothing that I am familiar with.”

“…are you, Ed?” Kirche was nothing if not observant, and her companion looked like a pickpocket caught redhanded, the way his lip quivered and eyes kept wide.

“…yeah, uh… yeah, I’ve seen swords like that before…” He muttered. “How much for it?” The swordsmith smiled, and Kirche did not like that smile one bit. It was a grin of an enterprising merchant, looking to make a profit. She probably could afford it either way, but it was a matter of principle; Zerbsts were not to be scammed.

“Well, it is one-of-a-kind. It looks a bit rough, but its blade is still razor-sharp. Plus, you already received one blade from me for free, such as it is…” Derflinger let out a sound of righteous indignation. “so, not to be too greedy… two thousand Écu.” Kirche made a face that spoke volumes of her thoughts about such a deal. Eddie didn’t have to know the local exchange rate to know that the swordsmith was trying to wring them dry. Plus, the roadie already put a big hole in Kirche’s purse with the purchase of that lute a while back…

“…Ed, if you could please wait outside.” Once the redhead spoke, her voice was different. Much less playful, much more focused, much more determined. Eddie blinked. She was planning something. “I should be done with the discussion with dear swordsmith in half an hour or so.”

“…you’re not gonna beat him up or something, right?” He whispered. Kirche smiled slightly.

“Nothing like that. This situation calls for a woman’s touch.” Oh. _Oooh._ Eddie found himself squirming a little. It wasn’t that big of a deal; they could always come back for the sword at a later date, especially if the swordsmith insisted on proposing such an outrageous price for it. Like… she didn’t have to go _that_ far.

“Uh, Kirche, are you sure about th—“

“I can read a desire on one’s face. You really want to take that blade with you.” Kirche smiled again, this time more reassuringly. “Worry not; Sir Derflinger will protect me from untoward behavior. I only wish to haggle some~” What did “haggle” and “some” mean to the redhead, Eddie could only guess. Still, she was planning to commit and something told him that she would not change her mind no matter what he thought of that.

“Uh, right. So… meet you in half an hour by the, uh, by the entrance we came through?”

“It’s a date.”

\----

There was still one more pressing issue that Eddie needed to address during his wait for Kirche.

Namely, he was still out of cancersticks. Curses. Nothing he’d seen so far convinced him that an ordinary shop would sell them. It was probably a domain of less savory characters in these parts. Still, it wasn’t like he was doing something improper. He was already a heretical barbarian from the fringes of known world, so him prowling around alleyways shouldn’t be too out of the ordinary.

His travelling companion – currently busy “haggling” with the swordsmith over Battle Cry – was kind enough to leave him a couple of Écu, so at least this time he wasn’t going around empty-handed. Half an hour was enough to get it settled, too. Thus, he began his search. Most people made space for him as he walked, so at least he wasn’t stuck in a crowd. Even some kid in fancy duds – unmistakably a noble’s son – did so, although if Eddie were to guess, it was likely due to pure confusion than anything else.

Tristania’s darkened alleyways were fairly calm at this time of day. Made sense; any shady deals were likely conducted after dark. And yet, Eddie found himself a spectator of something definitely shady. It looked like three men of questionable attitude apprehending someone in a long cloak that hid their features completely. It was obvious the three weren’t any part of local law enforcement and the cloaked figure was in trouble.  Well, that would not fly. Frowning, the roadie slowly made his way deeper into the alleyway. It seemed nobody took notice of his presence yet, and so he could make out some dialogue.

“Such a pretty face. It’s a damn shame we have to put ya to the knife.” One of the thugs chuckled in a gravelly voice, grabbing a hold of the cloaked figure’s chin. The imminent victim squirmed in the grasp slightly, but not enough to offer any real resistance. “Gaston, ya ever wonder why noble girls are so pretty?”

“I wouldn’t know, Reynard, I wouldn’t know.” The tallest and thinnest of thugs shrugged indifferently. “But then again, that kind of status, I bet you can turn the ugliest fooking haunt into a nymph.”

“I wouldn’t ponder on that much. Nobles are just that, and a plague to scour from the land.” The third one – speaking with a notably different accent – replied, impatience in his voice.

“Ya shouldn’t be workin’ for Albion then, Mr. Wagner.” Reynard laughed. “We’re doin’ what nobles want, ain’t we?”

“Oh, don’t be mistaken. We need _some_ nobles, at the very least. But, the less we have, the better. That way we can have real power in our hands.”

“I mean, I’m fine the way things are. It’s just good coin.” Gaston shrugged again.

“You will not get away with this.” The fourth voice belonging to a girl hidden under the cloak seemed to surprise the thugs. It was clear and commanding despite being hopelessly outmatched. Not even the strongest mage could do anything if they were caught off guard, but she was not going to let their intimidation tactics deter her. Even if she were to die here, justice would be found.

“Ya don’t get any say in dat, missy.” Reynard barked in response, squeezing her chin roughly. The girl squirmed, a pained sound escaping her lips. “How ‘bout ya do yer damn last prayer to Brimir? Then again, I guess ya’re gonna live long enough for us to have sum fun with ya…”

“That is not a part of our job, Reynard.” Mr. Wagner pointed out, glowering at the bulkier thug. “We’re wasting time. Put her to the knife already.”

“Would ya relax, ya albionian muppet? There ain’t no one comin’ to save this lil’ bitch.”

“I’ll show you a muppet.” The unknown voice caused all four to turn sharply. For Reynard that meant receiving a straight dead-on to the nose, throwing him into the wall of the building out of breath and out of consciousness. His grip on the girl loosened enough that she managed to stumble back out of harm’s way, staring dumbfounded at her unlikely savior. Gaston was already on him, swinging his jagged knife, but it found no purchase; he too was laid down with another hit flying right into his bulkier companion.

“Oh, what in blazes…?” Mr. Wagner knew his chances. They were caught with their pants down by someone strong enough to knock Reynard – not the smallest of men – out cold with a single punch. If he were to fire his gun, that would undoubtedly alarm someone else and make escaping impossible. He was planning to leave these two Tristanian louts to their well-deserved fate, but being put to a headsman’s axe was not the career path he himself envisioned.

“You tell me. You three getting off on trying to rape and murder a kid just because she’s a noble?” The tall Germanian barbarian glowered at him. The axe on his back was threatening enough, but the alleyway was narrow enough to keep him from swinging it. Small comfort if Mr. Wagner were to have his neck broken from the sheer power of the enemy’s swing. Plus, once their quarry recovered, she could reach for her wand herself. It was time to bail.

“Damnit… this is not the last you’ve heard from the Reconquista!” He chose smartly and turned right on his heel, bolting out of the alleyway. Eddie didn’t plan on pursuing him, just watching him go before looking over to the girl, approaching slowly.

“You okay there?” He asked. From up close he could make out a bit of violet locks under the hood. The clothes the noble girl wore were simple and drab, but way too well-made, meant to imitate someone of a much lower social status.

“…yes. I think so, yes.” The violet-haired girl nodded hesitantly. “…many thanks for your rescue, kind sir. I am in your debt.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. These Reconquista guys sound like a bunch of douchebags.” She couldn’t help but smile. This Germanian man was telling it like it is, not afraid to speak to her like they were equals. It was a welcome change of pace from all the brown-nosing and condescending respect she was getting at the palace. “Uh, you want me to get you home?”

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you—“

“Not a problem. I’ve got like twenty minutes left. That Wagner asshole might try his chances yet.”

“I think you scared him off well enough, Sir…”

“Ed. Uh, Ed of Germania. I’m a skald.” So he said, but she could see the runes on his arm. Was he a familiar? The runes didn’t quite match, though they looked familiar to her; she just couldn’t quite put a finger on it… “What’s yours?” The girl blinked. Did he really not know who she was?

“Oh, um… Henrietta.” Perhaps he didn’t. He appeared to be a wandering minstrel from a land far away from here. Judging by his exotic outfit, an even stranger instrument – she figured – on his back and the incredibly casual manner that he conducted himself with, he might have been from as far as the fringes of that already distant country.

An awkward silence persisted for a few moments, finally broken off by a long-forgotten Reynard groaning from his spot, trying to pick himself up from his slumped position. “One moment.” Ed of Germania said, approaching the downed thug and giving him a good old-fashioned kick to the face. Reynard stopped moving again, crumpling on the floor. Henrietta flinched both at the sight and the disgusting sound that was made. Ed’s efficiency could not be denied, at the very least.

\----

And so the princess of Tristain found herself in a presence of a most unusual bodyguard on her way back to the palace. At first she planned to head out again, but he had the right of it: there was no telling if the Reconquista’s assassin wouldn’t strike again. At least the two thugs she didn’t have to worry about: before they left the alleyway, she made sure to restrain them with a simple spell. Judging by their operations, they were already notorious criminals, but she would leave their judgment to the city guard.

“So where were you going anyway, and dressed like that too?” He asked at some point. Currently he was smoking one of the tobacco tubes he acquired off the unconscious thugs. A cigarette, he called it. The odor was awful, but it would be rude to question that after having her life and decency saved.

“Well, I was planning to visit a friend of mine. My… position makes it difficult to travel undetected, and I just wanted to visit her without all the fanfare.”

“Man, it sounds like you’re some princess or something. The Reconquista muppets seemed to think so too.”

“…that’s because I am one, actually.” Ed gave her a look that seemed mildly confused, but that confusion grew with each passing second as they walked. “…my name is Henrietta de Tristain.”

“…you’re… you’re not pulling my leg, are you?” Henrietta couldn’t help but give him a look in return. It felt refreshing not having to be overwhelmingly, artificially polite for once. “Holy shit.”

“Don’t think much of it.”

“Dude, no, that’s dangerous.” To his credit, he didn’t raise his voice out of surprise, so nobody paid attention to them for too long, ignoring the fact that most people still moved before him. “Can you imagine the news if you ended up dead as a doornail in some ditch?”

“I imagine most of the High Council would be mighty pleased, actually.” She muttered bitterly before shaking her head, earning her another incredulous look from her unlikely bodyguard. 

“Man, sounds like you have it rough. Sorry to hear that.” Ed replied after a moment of awkward silence broken only by the sounds of their footsteps. “The last king and queen I knew had unanimous support.”

“You knew royalty? Personally?” Oh. Oh crap. He might have said too much, he realized. It sure would be a doozy, trying to explain why this random Germanian skald knew any king at all.

“Y-you know, like a tribe king.” Henrietta raised her perfectly proportioned eyebrow. “Uh, back home it’s a bunch of smaller rulers under a bigger one, and then an even bigger one and so on.” Something about that explanation didn’t quite gel with her, but perhaps he just didn’t know how to put it into words…?

“Ah. I see.” Perhaps she shouldn’t be pressing the issue any further. “I admit, my knowledge of Germania outside of its… mainland, so to say, is rather lacking.”

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t recognize a local princess either.” He chuckled in response. That got her to smile in return. Yes, this was a rather nice conversation they were having. Even now that he knew of her prodigious station he didn’t flinch or shy away from just talking to her like an equal. It certainly helped that he didn’t seem to think much of class struggles and established order of things, likely having arrived from far enough away that the Founder’s word was sparse or unknown in his homeland.

Eventually, she recognized the street they were traversing as one nearby the castle. It was probably a good time to part ways. “I shall be fine on my own from here.” Henrietta said, gesturing to the spires nearby. Eddie looked up at the towers before them. “Thank you kindly for walking me here, Sir Ed.”

“Don’t mention it. Just try not to make a habit out of leaving alone like that. Fix yourself a bodyguard, at least.”

“…I was meaning to, admittedly, but I think I was a little too confident that the turmoil from Reconquista would not reach us yet.” The princess sighed dejectedly.

“What is their deal, anyway?” Oh, right. He really had no clue. To him, Reconquista were just a bunch of, as he said it, “douchebags”. A funny little word, Henrietta thought, but probably not one that should be used in a distinguished company. Equally funny, of course, was her sudden need to talk to someone completely not in the know about the political burden on her back and on the back of her beloved cousin, right before her palace, incognito.

“They seek to overthrow monarchs. The man leading them, Olivier Cromwell, believes himself on a mission from God and will stop at nothing to see his goal realized.” Well that was a vaguely familiar name. If he recalled correctly from his history classes, Cromwell was the guy that tried installing some weird new government in England after his people executed the last king. He then died and things went back to normal, but not without a few extras to spice up the previous monarchy. Eddie wasn’t much of a history buff, but having another guy fulfilling a very similar – if not identical – mission here was one hell of a coincidence.

“Sounds like a rough deal. Why not go and curb them though?”

“They have formidable numbers by their side… big enough to blindside the royal family of Albion.” Oh yeah, that was the floating island nation thingy. He recalled Louise mention that a few times.

“And I don’t suppose other kingdoms want to help?” Henrietta smiled again, but this time it was more of a grimace than anything.

“Tristain is not prepared to defend itself from a superior foe, much less attack him in their home territory. My hands, loathe as I am to admit it, are tied.” Long, tired sigh. “…Germania has its own worries, but I am sure you know well of them. Gallia is apathetic to the plight of the world and Romalia… I don’t know if I want them involved.” Henrietta shook her head and squished her cheeks together in an attempt to get some bearings. That was one determined look, Eddie thought. “Anyway, I am sorry to bore you with politics. Thank you once more for walking me… home.” The princess hesitated for a moment, as if considering something else to say.

“Something on your mind?” She seemed to ponder that question herself a few more moments before she took the ring off her finger and presented it to him. It bore the azure blue fleur-de-lis carved out in tasteful silver that didn’t go out of its way to be too outlandish. That was, as far as Eddie recognized, a symbol of Tristania and a symbol of royal authority. A signet-ring. “W-whoa, hey, wait, I can’t take this.”

“That’s the least I can give for saving my life, Sir Ed.” The princess smiled. “With this ring, you can ask any favor of my men and the nation of Tristain. Think on it, if you will.” Reluctantly, Eddie reached out for the ring, noting how tiny it was in his hand. “Safe travels to you.” Smiling one more time she turned to leave, soon disappearing in alleyways she knew were safe and led directly onto the palace grounds.

Eddie Riggs, for lack of a better word, was still slightly stupefied at having gained favor with the ruler of the land herself.

\----

“What is the matter? You look out of it.” That was an odd look, Kirche thought, and one completely unbefitting of this burly barbarian.

She carried both Derflinger and Battle Cry with her. Winning the second blade from the swordsmith proved a child’s play. She didn’t even have to go very far; her shirt was barely undone by the time they were finished. Perhaps he thought that she would be haggling in a more… orthodox style, but in the end, despite cutting the price of the ancient blade of Ed’s people by four fifths, he seemed pleased with the development. Derf too seemed pleased, the little lecher.

“Oi, buddy, snap out of it.” The other ancient blade called out to Ed, and this time the Germanian skald managed to look towards them.

“Oh, sorry, I was just… thinking? Thinking.” That didn’t sound very convincing to Kirche, but it felt rude to press the issue when he was their designated driver. “I… I guess I saved someone’s bacon while waiting for you.”

“Is that so? That’s no reason to space out like that.”

“She… uh, she might have been important.” Oooh, spicy news! Now that the redhead had to hear.

“Do tell more! That’s certainly no reason to be despondent. Look at you, already making waves with Tristanian cream of the crop.” Ha, if only she knew. Eddie was smart enough to tell that gossiping about the princess leaving the palace under a commoner’s guise would end in tears for everyone involved.

“I dunno, she didn’t give me her title or anything. She just seemed important, I guess.” 

“And what, pray tell, did you help her with?”

“I might have saved her from losing her life. Some thugs jumped her in an alleyway.”

“Ah, to have a noble lady in your debt… I can’t help but wonder what you would ask her for~”

“Don’t make it weird, Kirche…” He grumbled, fighting off a stupid compulsion to blush. The redhead laughed heartily and leaned back.

“Still, that is no small feat, being not just a commoner, but a foreign commoner that can ask whatever they desire from such a superior party.” Ed might not have been an ordinary commoner, all in all, but the rules still applied. “Truly worthy of praise.”

“An act of saving another is never a wrong one, no matter their station.”

Kirche and Derf yelped when the Deuce suddenly swerved for no discernible reason, on a crash course with a nearby pine tree. Thankfully Eddie managed to turn the vehicle sharply to the side to avoid certain doom, but the sudden impact of braking nearly catapulted them out of their seats. “…dude… Derf, don’t fucking do that.” The roadie groaned after a moment once they all started coming down from the adrenaline of nearly getting all killed in Helkeginia’s possibly first ever car accident.

“…what? I didn’t do nothing.” Kirche blinked, then she blinked again and looked at the other sword she was holding.

“…that would be me.” Battle Cry, Lars Halford’s blade, spoke in his voice. Eddie stared at the familiar sword, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, caught in complete shock. “And I am pleased to see you again, Edward.”


	12. Deceiver of Fools

“Dude, you’re a sword.”

“It appears so, yes. Funny feeling, that.”

To meet a talking blade was an event worth a lifetime. To meet two, and in such a short amount of time between one another, well, Kirche had to consider herself blessed. Perhaps staying around Ed of Germania just caused wonders to happen… and yet, she now doubted if that was his real name. The blade referred to him as “Edward” – she caught that much in the middle of her amazement at the situation – and that was no Germanian name. More fitting of an Albionian. Plus, the way the blade said it, it almost sounded like this boisterous skald in exotic clothing was someone much bigger and more important than he appeared to be.

“I just… I don’t know what to say. Holy shit, when Doviculus gutted you, we all thought you’re a goner. Hell, we buried you, and here you are, being a fucking sword of all things!”

“I suppose I still felt the need to help my people, even in my death throes.” Lars the Sword replied thoughtfully. “It is only fair for a King of Bladehenge. How are Lita and Ophelia doing?”

“They’re fine now. Lita’s Queen in your place, and you have a bitching monument in Bladehenge, too.”

“Ah, so Doviculus has been driven back?”

“Better, dude: killed him myself.” Eddie grinned, proud of his handiwork back then. That was a wonderful decapitation, both the deed and the scream. “Demons were left packing.”

“That’s wonderful news!” The antique blade beamed, as far as an inanimate object with no face could. “My heart’s filled with joy and merriment, Edward. We must prepare a celebration in honor of all the Ironheade and their effort, so grand that it will shake the foundations of the mountains.”

“Dude, it’ll be the best fucking party ever. Once we’re back home, we can—“ Eddie’s voice suddenly blocked in his throat. Oh. Oh shit. Right. They were still in Helkeginia. He got excited there for a moment. There was no leaving this place anytime soon, and he still promised to teach Louise how to shred mean magic. He couldn’t just back out of this deal, that wouldn’t be cool.

Then Eddie froze again, the realization catching up with him. Kirche was sitting next to them with Derf in tow this entire time. Poof goes the story of Ed of Germania. “…I, uh… Lars, it… might be a while ‘til we go back.”

“…yes, it does seem like uncharted lands to me. Everything feels strange in these parts.” Lars hummed, the tab on the blade glowing faintly. “Where exactly are we, Edward?”

“You’re in the country of Tristain, in the land of Helkeginia.” Kirche cut in with a frown. Eddie gulped despite himself. “And I would like to hear more of your origin, “Ed of Germania”, or so you claimed your name was.”

\----

And so Eddie was forced to unravel the secrets of his trade to another person (two of them, actually, since Derf counted). He explained everything bit by bit: how he ended up in the Age of Metal in the first place, how he contributed to Ironheade’s cause, who everyone was, what the demons were, the works. What he did omit was his half-demon heritage and the whole Drowned Ophelia business, lying smoothly that Ophelia remained on the sidelines due to a leg injury. He’d have to let Lars know later, in private.

“So you’re from another world altogether.” Kirche concluded, arms folded under her chest. “Does Louise know?”

“…she, Colbert and Old Osmond. And uh, and Siesta.” The redhead raised her eyebrow at the last name. “Turns out she’s one quarter Thunderhog. Long story.”

“Something I don’t get though.” Derf cut in. “Why not just tell it like it is? That Louise should be as happy as a pig in mud. No small feat, summoning a guy from another world.”

“Tell that to the Church.” Eddie shook his head. Kirche had to agree there. It was bad enough that Louise was most likely a Void Mage; having summoned an outsider from another world might have truly got not just the pinkette, but her entire family in trouble, duchess Karin’s status irrelevant to Romalian witch hunters. “Look, Kirche, Derf, can this remain between us?”

“Yes, I promise that much.” The redhead nodded without hesitation.

“I think it’s mighty stupid, but sure. This blade is gonna be silent.” Derf joined her soon after.

“I do not like this one bit, Edward.” Lars cut in. He’d probably be shaking his head if he could. “Is there nothing that we can do to oppose such tyranny?”

“Not this time. Sorry, dude.” The awkward silence afterwards bit like the worst cold. It was obvious that nobody here was pleased with this development, but Helkeginia’s rules dictated that they remain silent. “Anyway, we should get going. It’s getting a bit late.” Eddie did spend a while explaining the whole situation.

For a while they rode in silence, Kirche having a hold on both blades and Eddie looking ahead, vigilant as not to bump into another tree. “…hey, uh, Kirche? Are you upset?” He asked after a while. The redhead didn’t look at him, but the tired sigh let the roadie know that she did acknowledge him.

“I really shouldn’t be, should I? It’s not the kind of gossip you can go around spreading to other people.” She replied. “And yet that selfish part of me feels hurt that you would not tell me. I apologize.”

“Nothing to apologize for. We’re pals. I’d be kind of hurt if my pal didn’t tell me stuff either.” Eddie slowed the Deuce down some; this particular part of the Academy-Tristania road was full of bumps. He could have sworn there was more of them on the way back. “We’ll have to let Louise know that you know though.”

“I’ve no objections to that.”

And then a loud explosion pierced the sky.

\----

Mr. Elgar did not usually accept such outrageous jobs.

His area of expertise was assassination and combat, a complete opposite of Mr. Wagner’s proficiency at subversive activities and false flag operations… and yet, their assignments were the opposites of what they excelled at. Mr. Elgar couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why was that, but a job was a job, and Viscount of Wardes was a generous man.

It sounded simple enough: they were to stage a stagecoach robbery and a hostage situation, “taking” the good viscount for ransom, with some of the boys playing dead as his retinue. Apparently the goal was for some travelling party to come “rescue” him. From there, Mr. Jean-Jacques Francis said, it would be his stage. One could not deny the viscount’s ruthlessness. Not only did he stage the assassination on Princess Henrietta – though given the subtle killing curse by his associate’s hand, it was likely that the Tristanian louts hired for the job wouldn’t spill the beans, and Mr. Wagner safely evacuated - but now he was boldly throwing himself as bait for the opposing parties. Reconquista could always use such exceptional men.

The enemies were approaching in a horseless carriage that belched out fire as it rode, carrying a giant Germanian from afar and a Zerbst (only they could pride themselves on such an exotic combination of blood red and chocolate dark). Mr. Elgar suddenly found himself growing nervous. He recognized the driver as the one who stopped the assassination, as evidenced by Mr. Wagner’s furious recount. The exploding fireball a minute earlier was meant to get their attention; now they had to act convincingly enough to fool these two.

Viscount winked at him knowingly and started the act. “By Founder, banditry!” In response one of the thugs tugged on his bound wrists, probably a little too strong than agreed on. Of course. Wardes took it in stride, as befitting a master actor.

“Ye be silent, noble boy, or we’re gun’ make a flute outta your windpipe!” The thug threatened. Mr. Elgar barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “You dere! Stop that box o’ yours or Mister Viscount gon’ geddit!” To his credit, they did stop the carriage. The driver slowly left the vehicle and glowered at the thugs. He was enormous, as if that axe on his back wasn’t threatening enough.

“What the hell’s going on here? You douchebags looking to get it?” Suddenly, Mr. Elgar found himself wondering if this was a good idea in the first place. His role as the remaining servant taken hostage kept him fairly away from the action, but being grabbed or punched by that brute would be felt by the sturdiest of men.

“We told ya! Ya be quiet or we gun’ fish the Viscount!”

“I believe you meant to say “gut the Viscount”.” Wardes replied flatly, causing a wave of snickering from the other bandits and the thug in question to turn red with indignation.

“I’m really gun’ do it!” He bristled, brandishing a knife and putting it to the noble throat. Mr. Elgar paled; that was not the part of the plan! Damn these Tristanian earthmunchers! “Ya say one Brimirdamned word and I’m gun’—“ Then Wardes decided to improvise the rest of the script. The back of his head snapped into the thug’s nose, causing the bandit to fall back, caught completely off-guard by the unscripted attack as he held himself by the bloodied nose, cursing like a sailor. The confusion was visible amongst the others, but it seemed the viscount didn’t concern himself with that any.

“Now, Mr. Elgar!” Oh right, his role was to suddenly free himself and shoot a few of the bandits. His pistol was empty, only mildly enchanted to give out the effect of shooting. That’s what he did and, for once, the bandit he “shot” knew what to do, comically flying backwards with his hands up as he fell on the ground. The giant Germanian sprung into the action, his axe coming off his back and digging deep into another bandit’s shoulder. His screams were cut short by a hook to the face, sending him crumpling by the carriage. Mr. Elgar “shot” another one, and then the Zerbst girl joined in the action by lighting one of the others’ pants on fire, sending him running for the hills.

Luckily Wardes’ sudden change of plans confused the louts enough that they did not question the situation or even put up a decent defense. Mr. Elgar sighed, “shooting” the last one. He’d just have to pay the survivors more. “Splendid rescue, if I dare say so myself.” The viscount smiled at the rescuers.

“Don’t mention it, dude.” The Germanian smiled back, freeing the noble wrists. The Zerbst girl joined the two of them, wand still drawn in case someone else decided to cut into the rescue. For once, Mr. Elgar was grateful that he took on the role of the “good guy”. “Got yourself in a sticky situation there.”

“Yes, quite. Me and my retinue were ambushed by these highwaymen, and so close from my abode too. As you can see, only Mr. Elgar survived this brutal onslaught.” That was his cue to approach the discussion, holstering his pistol and coming over. The Zerbst girl gave him one more glare before holstering her own wand in turn. Phew. “I cannot thank you enough, _Mademoiselle_ Zerbst, kind sir.” Ha, that got the redhead blushing, particularly once Wardes left her hand with a picture-perfect kiss.

“Y-you’re welcome, Viscount Wardes…” She stammered sheepishly, holding the kissed hand in another, trying not to give out a nervous giggle.

“You know him?”

“Ah, you do look like a traveler from far away. Allow me to introduce myself.” Wardes took off his hat in a perfect flourishing bow. “I am Jean-Jacques Francis, Viscount of Wardes, and the Captain of Griffin Knights of Her Grace Queen Marianne de Tristain. Your courageous act had spared Tristain the grief of losing her faithful servant, and for that I can only be eternally grateful.” What a fucking liar. Mr. Elgar was kind of envious there, listening to the self-proclaimed “faithful servant” confabulating with the kind of ease one would breathe. He had to learn how to do that.

“Man, is this some “save-the-noble” day today?” The Germanian laughed, offering a handshake once Wardes stood back up. “I’m Ed, from Germania. Kirche, I believe, you already know.”

“Quite. I’ve heard nothing but good things of the bold and confident Zerbsts.”

“You don’t have to butter her up like that though.”

“I do not mind being buttered up.” The redhead replied dreamily only to catch herself on what she’d just said. “I-I mean, well, yes, t-thank you for the p-p-praise…”

“’tis my pleasure, _Mademoiselle_. Mr. Elgar, can I trust you to handle these ruffians?” Wardes turned to him, gesturing briefly to the rest of this merry entourage.

“As you say, Your Lordship.” He replied in an exaggerated Tristanian accent. If that Ed had come into contact with Mr. Wagner, it was probably better to play it safe than risk him figuring out something was up.

“As for you, kind rescuers, I’ve nothing to repay you for your courage… so how about letting me welcome you in my mansion for the feast worth such heroes like yourselves?”

\----

As Deuce was not meant for more than two people, it was a bit of a predicament for Eddie to ferry both Kirche and Wardes (not to mention Lars and Derf were still on board, they agreed to keep quiet for now, just to be sure). Asking Kirche to take a lap seat on him would spell trouble for him as a driver – amongst other things – and Wardes would probably turn the idea down; something about a knight’s honor, probably.

They all agreed that Wardes took a place in the back, such as it was. As it turned out, the guy was a Lightning mage – a rarity, Kirche said – and knew a few tricks to keep himself afloat on a precarious surface. Eddie still decided to go slower. “I must say, however, this is a splendid machine there, _Monsieur_ Ed.”

“She’s a beaut, isn’t she? Made her myself.” Eddie lied, not wanting to go into the whole “Gods of Metal” discussion with a royalist. Pleasant as Wardes was, it was best to play it safe. "Remade one of them steam vehicles from the capital when I had the opportunity.”

“I see you’re quite an engineer then.”

“Ah, it’s nothing special. I did a lot of stuff during my travels.”

“So what brought you to Tristain?”

“I guess I just wasn’t here yet. Wanted to see how the folks are, what’s the place like. Ended up at the Academy, I’m fixing some things there.” Wardes’ mansion was in sight. Quite a house, Eddie thought. So that was how nobles lived, huh.  Well, taking a brief stop to have something to eat wouldn’t hurt. Honestly, he was starving and he could tell that Kirche was kind of hungry as well.

As for Wardes himself, the plan went smoothly. Now that he gained Ed’s trust (and the Zerbst girl’s wasn’t bad to have either) his second part was to ensure they stayed at the mansion for a while. In the meantime, Fouquet would secure the Staff of Destruction, not having to worry about the Germanian’s sheer destructive power (absurd as it was to hear that some brutish skald could summon an airship of all things to kill young Gramont’s pride in one strike). The students would prove to be no threat and the school staff would be caught flat-footed.

And from there they would be able to continue with their plan.


	13. Cold Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fouquet makes her entrance, Wardes does his thing, and Kirche's more perceptive then some may give her credit for.

It couldn’t be denied: The Viscount’s crib was pretty damn impressive.

Eddie wasn’t really privy to these kinds of places. Back when he was still just “the best roadie in the business”, he knew that the insufferable Kabbage Boyz sometimes visited other stars of music, but he himself did not belong in marbles, velvets and riches. Besides, most self-respecting metalheads tended to be somewhat more frugal and less ostentatious. They still used their hard-earned money for some really dumb shit, but it was an event and not a daily occurrence.

Some exploits of all the pop starlets and renowned rappers made his skin crawl from the sheer level of disapproval, honestly. These people probably lived in the kind of mansion that was before them. Now, Wardes probably got it with his inheritance when Papa Wardes expired, but it didn’t make it any less impressive. Again, Eddie didn’t quite feel like he belonged in such places, but he couldn’t deny that they could leave quite an impression, even on a fellow noble like Kirche, currently busy swooning over the tasteful opulence that seemed to be the main mode of architecture here.

“Mighty thanks for your assistance.” The owner of the mansion hopped off the Deuce as the hotrod slowed down to a halt. “Please, feel free to park it wherever you see fit. I shall let the servants know that today’s dinner will be more than the usual.” Leaving Kirche with a small kiss on the top of hand and Eddie with a quicker, smoother salute, the Viscount made himself scarce, disappearing within the mansion.

“Incredible. He’s as every bit of a gentleman as I’ve been told.” The redhead hummed after a moment of silence once they’ve already disembarked from the Druid Plow, but something in her expression seemed contemplative. “Little Louise will have it quite nicely.” Eddie raised an eyebrow.

“What does Louise have to do with all this?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? She and the Viscount are arranged for marriage.” For a moment, the roadie just stared dumbly at his erstwhile companion. “From what I understand, Duchess de la Vallière engineered the marriage as an insurance option should Louise be expelled from the Academy.”

“Well, they ain’t gonna expel her now, right? She can do stuff.” Kirche smiled crookedly, but something about that expression worried Eddie.

“Nothing says she cannot be Wardes’ wife still.”

“But he’s like… how old is he, even? Dude’s got gray hair all the way down.” The way Eddie worded it, Kirche had to set her head on straight so as not to think about the Viscount’s “down hair” too much. There’s time and place for such carnal levity, and now it simply wasn’t.

“Haven’t you seen some of the hair colors people around here have?” The roadie frowned. True, there was Tabitha with her blue hair or the princess with purple… hell, Louise herself had bright pink locks of all things. “I think he’s in his late twenties right now, so she could have been way worse off.”

“Ugh… I dunno, it just doesn’t seem right. Does she like him, at least?”

“Yes, actually. He visited the Academy a few times, and it was always a delight to watch, like two lovers just finding out about their feelings. Which has me wonder…”

“Kirche?”

“Eddie… didn’t you find anything suspicious in that scene from by the carriage earlier?”

\----

Back at the edge of the Academy, a certain green-haired master thief was feeling anxious.

By all means, this was meant to be a simple job, certainly for someone of her renown. Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth, the notorious burglar and larcenist who robbed nobles without ever being caught. No safe was thick enough for her. No barrier was strong enough for her. No ward could hold her… and now, despite having scouted the perimeter many times over, she couldn’t help but be just a little on the edge.

Part of it was because an untimely arrival of a certain Germanian barbarian could mess up the whole operation. Wardes was supposed to occupy him in the meantime, but he probably couldn’t keep him in place without resorting to drastic means – something that would get them in hot water rather quickly. She had seen that flaming airship dropping down on young Gramont’s golems, and she’d rather not have it drop on her head instead.

_Deep breaths, Mathilda_. Fouquet heeded her own advice and took a greedy gulp of fresh Tristanian air before her first target of today – one Jean Colbert, named the Flame Serpent – appeared within vision. She had to make sure that no teacher would be there to disturb her as she raids the vault. A small rock grew in her hand, and then began forming into a particular shape, Fouquet’s thumb slowly moving over it. Colbert was unaware of her, and she would make sure that this wouldn’t change. With a sudden flick of her wrist, the projectile was thrown, smacking right into that stupid shining bald head of his, dropping him out of consciousness on the spot. Without wasting time, Fouquet made the earth move, slowly carrying the body over to her place of hiding. He was unharmed, save for a purple bruise on his head – a slightly scrambled brain, at best, nothing life-threatening. Satisfied with the outcome, the thief tied Colbert up and moved forward.

Luckily, at this hour most students were already in the dorms. Founder forbid they’d do any extracurricular activities, the little miserable wretches. Though she was one herself, Fouquet despised the nobles with burning passion. Working for Reconquista gave her a constant outlet to vent her frustrations. Naturally, they didn’t just offer her the job out of goodness of their hearts. There simply was a certain place in Albion that Fouquet couldn’t afford to see destroyed, and Olivier Cromwell’s men knew that all too well.

Moving from shadow to shadow and avoiding the odd servant figure here and there, it was so far nothing out of the ordinary (an unconscious academic in a bush notwithstanding). Fouquet would have to use more drastic means to get inside the Vault, but the swiftness of her operations would ensure that they wouldn’t be able to organize before she made her escape. The item to steal: one Staff of Destruction. Supposedly an artifact from another world, with a name that explained its purpose rather succinctly. She didn’t doubt that it was in the Academy’s vault for a reason – but given the circumstances, she just couldn’t give a damn.

A strange sound reached her as she awaited in the dark, waiting for another maid to pass by. It sounded like a harp, but the way it was played seemed… unorthodox, to say the least. The notes were frantic, chaotic, and yet there was some order to them. It was no sappy ballad or a lovestruck serenade, that’s for sure. Whoever was at the strings was either a fool or a genius in the making. Against her better judgment, Fouquet slinked over to where it came from to investigate.

Out of the way, in a location that allowed a peace of mind sat a pink-haired girl, fingers at the strings of her harp. A student, judging by the uniform, and yet the thief couldn’t help but stare at the bizarre sight. She wasn’t alone, either; accompanied not just by a salamander with its tail wagging about lazily, but one of the servants. Furthermore, it seemed that the maid didn’t come here just to marvel at the musical craft; no, it looked more like she was giving the noble snot instructions! And the girl took them without a word of complaint! Amazing, truly amazing. Fouquet knew the girl was a Vallière – the one who summoned the accursed Ed of Germania, in fact – and she had heard that their family was always on good terms with commoners. Unfortunate, for they would make good allies, but they were also a cadet branch of the Tristain royal family – and thus the first ones to try and stop her and her supervisors.

Having listened enough of the strange melody, Fouquet turned to leave, turning her attention to the task at hand. Get the Staff, make a swift exit. Easier than taking candy from a baby.

\----

Back at the Wardes Mansion, the atmosphere was a little uncertain.

Prior to the dinner the viscount was preparing for his two rescuers, Kirche shared her observations with Eddie. Chiefly: it was either extremely bad form on Wardes’s part to be caught by a bunch of highwaymen with no Mage among their ranks… or something fishy was going on here. Secondly, the gun used by Wardes’s servant fired three times in rapid succession.

Eddie was made to understand that local technology does not allow such guns to exist. “Maybe it was enchanted or something?” He asked as they strode through the opulent halls of the mansion’s insides. Despite their lavish decorations, everything was kept very tasteful and restrained, almost austere. It was certainly a lot of modesty as far as Tristanian nobility was concerned, Kirche thought.

“If it was, wouldn’t it make more sense for all of his servants to have such guns? I’m sure nobody would die then but the ruffians.” She retorted, and the roadie had to admit that there was some truth to the statement. “And honestly, I don’t know if such an enchantment is even possible.”

“…so what, he staged all this and what for?” Now that was a question Kirche had no answer for. Wardes didn’t strike her as particularly strange or kooky. She has heard horror stories of some Germanian nobles indulging in the strangest of hobbies, ranging from innocent if compromising – like streaking in the woods – to actively heinous. Her brother’s letter from a few weeks back told her that much; the further away from Vindobona, the less concerned with the small ones were their supposed protectors.

“I don’t know, but keep your eyes peeled.” Eventually, the two of them – since Derf and Lars had to stay back to maintain their disguises as ordinary blades – ended up in the dining hall as per the instructions of the staff. Like the rest of the mansion, the furnishings were noble and lavish, but restrained and tasteful. Kirche could get used to this. Now, if only their host was less suspicious…

“Thank you for joining me.” Speak of the devil, Wardes greeted them with a slight bow, with a couple of maids for assistance. He’d allowed himself a luxury of changing into a new outfit, less creased and dirtied from the stagecoach robbery that may or may not have been real. “I do apologize for the small scale of the dinner” Here he gestured towards the huge table, easily meant for many more visitors than just the two here. Only the far end of it was decorated, but Eddie still couldn’t help but whistle in appreciation. That there looked to be the feast of kings. “but we had little time to prepare.”

“No problem at all, dude.” His directness could possibly throw Wardes off and have the viscount say something he ordinarily wouldn’t, Kirche thought. Bit of a stretch, but it was an option as good as any other. “This looks hella better than the usual that I get.”

“Well, I’m quite happy to help then. Please, seat yourselves and suit yourselves.”

For lack of a better word, the food was quite splendid. Kirche wasn’t the kind to be picky about her cuisine, but Wardes’ cooks simply blew her mind. Eddie was just barely holding himself from tearing into the cutlet. It was kind of endearing, like watching a thirsty man finally take a solid gulp of water. “If it’s not a problem, may I inquire how did you end up finding me?”  The viscount attempted conversation.

“Ah, Sir Ed here accompanied me on my trip to Tristania.” Kirche smiled charmingly in return. Any lesser man would no doubt find himself hot under their collar, but Wardes was almost certainly cut from a better cloth. She had to treat him with caution. “I wanted to take in the sights and see if I could procure a souvenir or two.”

“Such as the two blades in the back of the Deuce?”

“Oh, these we’ve acquired by pure happenstance, really.” The redhead deflected an unwanted question with a mirthful laugh. “Sir Ed comes from deep fringes of my homeland and he’s recognized the craft of these blades that somehow found themselves in a Tristanian shop. It must have been fate.”

“Fate… a strange concept, isn’t it, _Mademoiselle_ Zerbst? A thought that our lives, from start to finish, are preordained by the higher being… depressing, no?”

“Well, we cannot possibly know that until we pass away and meet those above.” Somehow, the discussion turned philosophical and Eddie’s head tilted ever so slightly. If not for Kirche’s warning from earlier, Wardes wouldn’t strike him as particularly suspicious. Sure, he didn’t really pay him any attention, but that was just a Noble thing. If he was like the average deal – and Eddie had an opportunity to see first-hand some of the students flaunt their status – he’d probably take offense to him sitting at the same table, no matter if they just saved his life or not.

Things went on and on, with the two nobles engaged in a lively discussion as the time passed. Once his palate was satisfied, Eddie elected to simply listen to the discussion. It seemed that Kirche was well-informed in the matters of Tristanian politics; certainly to a point that left Wardes mildly surprised. A tale of the rivalry between House Zerbst and House Vallière followed, and from there the conversation segued into the topic of Louise.

“I am certainly glad that she has found her magical skill after searching for so long.” The viscount nodded, helping himself to a fruit salad dessert. “I know it has been eating at her for the longest time now.”

“Naturally. If I may be so bold, it’s likely that she’s realized how important our rivalry is.” Kirche laughed. “It would truly be a shame if it were to end in a walkover.”

“Do you, per chance, know what spurred this development?” Eddie couldn’t help but tense, watching the redhead suddenly become rather invested in exploring her own portion of fruit salad with her fork.

“A change of focus. Apparently she has little compatibility with an ordinary wand. Yet, lo and behold, the teachers spare her no end of compliments recently now that she switched to a harp.” This time Wardes was visibly given pause.

“I beg your pardon? A harp?”

“An instrument, yes. We were all quite surprised, in fact! It turns out that she’s quite a harpist, too.”

“I don’t recall Louise knowing how to play any instrument. Did she learn just to try and harness her magic?” Kirche smirked a little.

“If there’s anyone who would have the willpower to try, it would be her.” Eddie smiled in kind, silently congratulating himself there. It always felt nice to know that thanks to your own efforts, someone else found up enough in themselves to try and become better. A roadie’s job is to make another guy look good, and so far he’s been doing okay on that front. The few who’d think of Louise as a weirdo would quickly find themselves impressed with her awesome solos. Yeah, he could see it now. Louise the Badass Guitarist, Void Mage extraordinaire and a bitching musician to boot.

Kirche stirred and her expression turned into a frown all of a sudden. “Something wrong, _Mademoiselle_?” Wardes asked, easily catching the shift. The redhead didn’t reply immediately, instead slowly rising from her seat and looking at Eddie.

“…w-what’s going on, Kirche?” He asked, feeling minor confusion that, as she looked at him, slowly gave way to worried anxiety.

“It appears… that someone is attacking the Academy. Pardon us, viscount, we will have to excuse ourselves prematurely.”

“Attacking? Like what? Reconquista?” Eddie butted in. Kirche resisted an urge to roll her eyes.

“What? No, it’s a single… look, I’ll tell you once we get there!”

“Then I will be right behind you.” The viscount cut in, his features taking on a steely look. “I do not know who dares to be so bold, but if they are endangering Louise, I cannot stand by idly.”

“That’s a bit of a ride, dude. Druid Plow can’t fit three people in for that long.”

“Ah, but did I not say that I am a captain of the Griffin Knights?” Wardes smirked ever so slightly. Now that he wasn’t keeping a neutral look or a slight smile, Eddie had to admit that the viscount could pull off some really menacing grimaces. He’d seen Doviculus grin, and this little smirk was about comparable on the “definitely a baddie” category.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“The name isn’t just a fancy title, Ed.” Kirche nudged the roadie slightly as she provided a much-needed explanation. The roadie blinked, looked at the redhead and then blinked again.

“You mean—“

“Yes.”

“…huh. Neat.” A brief pause. “…we should probably get going.”

\----

How was it that a single event could ruin someone’s day so profoundly? And the day in question was quite nice, too.

Still, such was the reality. Being pitted against a massive golem by an audacious thief right in the dead of night would do that to a person, and Louise was currently in the proposed situation. The thief, mounted on the massive earth construct’s shoulder, had a hold of a long, staff-like object, their face and figure hidden from sight under concealing robes.

“Don’t make me crush you, brat.” The thief warned, tone androgynous and unknown to Louise. “Put down that harp and nothing will happen to you.” Objectively, the third of the Vallière lost the fight before it even begun. Facing such might – the thief no doubt was a Triangle-Class Earth Mage, at the very least – with nothing but an instrument and a rudimentary understanding of her newfound magic, which might or might not have been of the Void element, she couldn’t hope to win. She told Siesta to run for help and Kirche’s dumb salamander – which tagged along with them for the day, for which Louise could only be grateful – to protect her on the way there, but there was no telling when the maid would return with assistance. Even with this amazing construct by the main tower, it was the dead of night – it would be a while before anyone would arrive.

Brimir’s balls! Who was she, if not the protector of Tristain and her peoples?! She was a motherfucking Vallière, an adherent to the fabled “Rule of Steel”, daughter of Karin the Heavy Wind. Some two-bit burglar, no matter if a mage or not, would not stop her. “I’ve a better idea! Why don’t you turn yourself in, so I don’t have to kick your ass?!” Some part of her was terrified at a sudden spew of vulgarity coming from her mouth, but the other, larger one felt like it was on fire. Louise was energized, Louise was feeling it. She could do it.

“A novel choice of last words, noble brat!” The golem stomped on the ground, creating a small shockwave that knocked the pinkette right on her posterior. As she stumbled and watched the earth construct approach, she realized that believing her own hype might not have been the wisest course of action.


	14. Focus Shall Not Fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louise squares off against Fouquet and the Staff of Destruction plays the part in the fight...

Louise Françoise le Blanc de La Vallière was, for lack of a better phrase, in quite a pickle.

Before her stood a gargantuan golem led by an audacious thief who dared to rob the Academy in the dead of the night, massive in size and girth, formidable in power, a deadly threat. For some inane reason, she saw fit to challenge that creature with nothing but her harp and her self-confidence which, given the circumstances, was rapidly dissipating.

How could she possibly hope to match something like that?! She just found her ability to cast magic via music – thanks to the efforts of one roadie from another world -  but her enemy was on a completely different level. And yet, in a fit of bravado, she thought she can match it?!

“I see you’re nowhere near as eager to die now. Good. I loathe to kill children.” The thief spoke from his (hers?) comfortable position on top of the golem’s shoulder. “Now, I offer one last chance to surrender. Or” The tone became mocking. “if you’re so eager to die for the Academy that treated you worse than dirt, then I shall let you have the first shot.” How… how dared he?!

“That’s…!”

“Not exactly inaccurate, is it? You were a pariah, a social outcast, one step away from being expelled from the Academy.” All these words _were_ true. Louise waved off her growing concern. The thief was just trying to set her off… but why would he do that, if he could just knock her out and be done with it? “Even now, with the discovery of your Familiar, people are giving you wary glances, don’t they?”

Some of them did. Kirche laid off her – and in turn became perhaps just a tad bit too friendly - and Guiche had a begrudging respect for her, but others were less receptive to her success, even in spite of that fabled duel at Vestri Court. Whispers of “pagan magic”, “heresy” and “demon” circulated around the Academy, and each time someone would give her an odd look, Louise shuddered. Could they stoop so low as to sic the Romalian authority upon her? Would they be justified in doing so? Perhaps she _was_ a heretic at this point? All of that was a concern, and happened even without her existence as a Void Mage being made public.

“What’s it to you, burglar?” She replied sternly to the thief, feeling at the strings. Could she possibly prepare something that could turn the tide of this lost battle over?

“I know people who are more accepting of your kind. People who could help you find yourself in this cruel, trying world.”

“The same who would impose upon the authority of Tristain?”

“The very same. When has that authority ever helped you?” And again, the thief was not wrong. Princess Henrietta aside, there wasn’t very much it could do. Professor Colbert or the headmaster were as helpful as they were, but they couldn’t do a thing about her ineptitude. Furthermore, her eldest sister likely had no shortage of words to describe Louise with; the words that no doubt made her quite entertaining to hear about for the Tristanian nobility, like watching a drunk dragon torpedo itself to the ground.

Louise _knew_ that her mother was disappointed with her education as well, but at the end of the day that was all she could offer to her. Disappointment. That, by extension, applied to all of nobility.

“I see you understand.” The thief said in a smug tone, watching Louise’s anxiety painted clear on her face. “Well, Miss Vallière, what do you say you come with me and—“

“No.” The brief silence between them was deafening, tuning out all the sounds of ambience from all around. Louise stared up defiantly, having just picked herself up, at the thief who seemed genuinely confused. “I refuse.”

“And they say commoners are dumb.” He scoffed, but his voice seemed uncertain, as if unable to believe that Louise would cling to such a society where she was below the accepted order. “Well, if you insist on dying for—“

“NOW. You said I am allowed one shot!” The pinkette called out, a tone carefully engineered to give out a feeling of arrogant indignation. All this observation of the thief gave her a certain idea. “Am I not allowed to go down in a blaze of glory?!”

“…foolish brat. Very well. Make it snappy.” Good. The idea was simple, and it probably would only inconvenience the thief, but… that was all Louise needed. Without ado, she began playing. The melody quickly began heated and frustrated, fast and anxious, urgent and needy. Compared to a tune from earlier, Fouquet found it incredibly dreadful. It was like the pink snot was trying to set her off. No matter. A harp didn’t carry the sound very far, so there was no risk of it being used to alert the others. There was still the maid, conspicuously missing, but the thief doubted any noble would take kindly to being woken up in the dead of night by a flustered commoner. She could cross that possibility off for now.

The air changed as the currents began to gather around the golem, too weak to actually move it but notable enough for Fouquet to feel the breeze on her body. _Levitation? No, it’s too strong… but the brat doesn’t have a Wind affinity, so what’s this about?_ In theory, a levitation spell could lift her off the golem, but that wouldn’t stop it from squishing the brat like an irritating pimple; and Vallière couldn’t dream to lift the golem either. A Triangle Wind mage wouldn’t be able to… “What exactly are you doing, brat? This is embarrassing.” The pink snot didn’t reply, turning the melody more discordant and scratchy, almost like she was  trying to botch the spell on purpose…

And only when did the Staff of Destruction suddenly shot out from her grasp and rocketed towards the ground, embedding in the soil, did Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth realize her mistake.

Louise wasted no further time. Pulling the artifact out of the ground with a huff of exertion – the bottom of it resembled the kind of mace a rampaging orc would use, but the top was more delicate and of unknown purpose, decorated with strips of cloth – she turned tail and, in a decidedly un-noble way, skedaddled serenely, giggling to herself the entire time. “Why, you…! Get back here!” The sudden earth spike growing from the ground that she just barely dodged – though not without her uniform’s side being torn up – swiftly brought her back to earth. She hoped that the thief would be stuck in their stupor for longer, but… all in all, weaponizing her failures from earlier felt way better than it had a right to.

\---- 

Siesta of Tarbes too was, for lack of a better phrase, in quite a pickle.

She generally was smart enough to stay out of way of the students. Some would bother her with mean remarks, but that was par of the course. More often than not, she was like air to them, and that suited Siesta just fine. Her relationship with Miss Vallière was completely unprecedented, and not just because it angled dangerously closely to heresy. They were, more or less, equals. Worse; sometimes the maid thought that the pinkette might regard her as a superior (at least as far as their grasp on musical magic went).

But scratch that! She could worry about possible repercussions of that at a later date. Flame, Miss Zerbst’s salamander familiar, was right by her side, running forward with its tongue wide open and flapping wildly. It would be an amusing sight if not for the urgency of the situation. She had to find someone capable who could ward the thief off. A teacher seemed like a good proposition, but she hadn’t seen any on her dash through the school grounds? Wasn’t one supposed to be patrolling at night?

All of this hurried thinking skidded to a halt when she crashed into someone. Siesta cried out in surprise as she fell back, feeling her head shake and spin as she stared at the night sky. “Ah, damnation! Since when is the staff paid to run around during night like madmen?” The other person grumbled from above, managing to hold himself up on his two feet. Siesta recognized the voice as that of young Master Gramont. Indeed, near herself lied the rose wand he used for his magic.

“I… a thousand apologies, milord, but…”

“And why is the lovely Zerbst’s familiar with you?” Flame offered a lick to the maid’s face, largely unconcerned with the blond fop. A reassuring (if sloppy) gesture, but not a very helpful one. Slowly, Siesta sat up, holding her head to keep it from spinning. “Hm… now that I think about it, she has not yet returned from Tristania, did she?”

“M-master Gramont… I’m so happy to see you!” She finally said once she gathered her bearings. Guiche didn’t seem to expect that kind of greeting, staring blankly at the maid. “It’s a matter most terrible! Mistress Vallière’s life is at risk!” That got him to pay attention. Inwardly, Siesta felt a smidgeon of pride for getting him to listen so soon. She explained the situation as succinctly as possible. A myriad of emotions ran over the young Gramont’s face as she did, finally settling on a cold determination. Siesta had seen that look before: Louise wore it every time before she passed another hurdle in her magical education.

“Then we mustn’t tarry. I wouldn’t be a Gramont if I walked past the trouble of fellow Tristanians. What is your name, maid?”

“Siesta, milord.” Guiche picked up his rose and offered a smile. It wasn’t the usual womanizing look – this one had more honesty to it.

“Professor Chevreuse is residing in the Void Tower at the moment. Go and fetch her. I’ll hold off the thief until then. Blazing familiar, make sure this fair maid gets there safely.” Kirche’s salamander wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but it recognized the command even when laced with so much unnecessary weird words. Nodding like an obedient puppy, it offered to lick Guiche’s hand, but the blond just stayed it with a slightly irked look.

As he left for the main tower, Siesta couldn’t help but think that, somehow, Guiche du Gramont grew as a man that night.

\----

“Man, we’ve been at Wardes’s a long time…” Eddie groused, watching the night sky. The weather was cloudless and the Deuce had lights installed, but it didn’t make it much easier to drive on roads unsuited for motor vehicles. “Anyway, you said it’s a single guy?”

“That’s what Flame relayed, yes.” Kirche nodded, taking a deep breath. She had just cast a spell to create a ball of flame to further enlighten their surroundings. A simple spell, but not if the ball had to be bound to a fast-moving target without accidentally dropping down and blowing them up to kingdom come. “A single Mage with an enormous golem attacking the main tower.” Above them, the flapping of Wardes’s griffin’s wings, Marseille, was briefly obstructed by a shriek of the beast. According to the viscount, she liked to do that at the most inopportune of moments.

“No idea if there’s more of them, huh. And you said he said Louise is right there?”

“Yes.” Mentally, Eddie couldn’t help but curse himself. Sure, nobody could possibly suspect a thief attack on the Academy and that she would be there, but they’ve wasted enough time at Wardes’s. “It’s strange. You should have been notified too.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a Master-Familiar thing. We can see through our Familiars’ eyes and converse with them. Well, for a given value of “converse”.” Kirche smiled crookedly. “So Louise should be able to contact you too.” Eddie could think of a certain reason why that was, but it was not something he could share with his redheaded companion. It was already bad enough his big mouth got him unmasked as an outsider to the world.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause he’s a human.” Derf spoke up all of a sudden, surprising the two.

“Jesus Christ, dude, I will one day crash us into a tree if you keep surprising us like that…”

“You’re fine. Anyway, it’s probably that. If I were a bettin’ sword, I’d bet humans are just different than salamanders, griffins or what have you.” That… made some sort of sense, Kirche thought. Not a lot, but it beat the ever-audacious theory that Louise could possibly be a Void Mage…

“Penny for your thoughts, Lars?” Eddie asked the other sword.

“Whatever the thief is attempting to steal must be of great importance. Something far more important than mere riches.” Battle Cry’s tablature glowed faintly as he spoke. “What is situated in the tower?”

“Let me think… oh! The vault! The Academy keeps notable magical artifacts in there.” Kirche pointed out. So, a bunch of fancy baubles then. If a fop like Guiche could just summon golems as he pleased, Eddie reasoned that such an artifact had incredible properties, like a mobile Tab Slab to use at a moment’s notice.

_Goddamnit, Louise. Hang on a little longer._

\----

Louise was not having a good time.

Through dumb luck and the flood of adrenaline rushing through her body, she had managed to avoid the thief’s attacks so far. Her uniform was ruined by these close calls, just barely holding on her body as Fouquet kept growing walls, spikes and bumps to try and stop her from escaping with the artifact. Managing how to escape with Louise’s life, decency and the staff intact all at once was proving a bit troublesome.

“I said get back here!” Another spike grew from under her feet and again, the pinkette just barely avoided the attack. Her clothes were faring much worse. If she wasn’t forced to run from an enraged Earth mage, she might have taken issue with the sorry state of her uniform, tattered and holding onto her mostly out of the goodness of its textile heart than any real logic. There was however another pressing issue: Louise was running out of breath. Scared, carrying both the staff and the harp and with physical condition generally unsuited for extended sprinting, she didn’t dare even turn. Playing a tune on an instrument might have given her her magic back, but such a procedure couldn’t match of a wand swing, let alone on the run.

And then she stumbled. With an alarmed cry, she flopped on her face, somehow not ending with the mace end of the staff anywhere on her body. Her harp – actually, Kirche’s harp – had far less luck and landed right underneath her. It seemed largely unharmed, but it was a small mercy for Louise, now a sitting duck for the thief chasing her. At the least the golem wasn’t there anymore; that would cause too much ruckus.

“Tripped over your own damn two feet. Somehow, I feel disappointed.” Fouquet, not used to long-distance chases either, took a moment to gather her bearings, her wand trained on Louise. Her two golem wingmen – smaller forms of the original huge construct, conjured in case the pink snot would try to blow her up so they would take the blow – stood next to her impassively. “Well, that’s that anyway. There’s nowhere to run.” Taking a deep breath, she straightened out. The Vallière pulled herself back up as well, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t hope to make a melody in an amount of time that would take Fouquet to just fire a rock at her.

“Now, be a good little girl and hand that staff over.” She would really loathe to kill the brat, if only because having Karin the Heavy Wind on her trail would give her nightmares until the end of days.  Worst things came to worst, she’d simply have the golems knock her out.

“Bite me.” The pink snot replied with a caustic retort, still trying to put on the brave face despite the tattered uniform and the lost position. Fouquet’s eyebrow creased with irritation before she gave a wordless command. The golems advanced on the brat’s position, intending to take the Staff of Destruction by force. Louise braced herself for the inevitable loss, trying to hoist the mace end of the artifact in one last ditch effort to defend herself…

…and then something zipped past her shoulder and knocked the golem right back. “For a self-styled robber of callous barons, you have little apprehension towards harming innocents.” The pinkette blinked at seeing a familiar figure of a brass Valkyrie, soon joined by another one that knocked the thief’s other golem back as well, and then turned back to see the last man she expected to have here: one Guiche du Gramont, cockily smiling to his rose as he approached the commotion. “Am I not right, Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt?”

“It’s “Crumbling Earth”.” The thief groused, glaring at the inconvenience in form of that dumb womanizer Gramont. “But if you know me, then you know you’ve no match for me.”

“I think you’re overselling yourself quite a bit. Some two-bit burglar does not scare me.” Something got the blond’s attention; namely, Louise’s sorry state of underdress. Blinking and slowly turning red, he looked back to Fouquet, offhandedly undoing his mantle with one hand and handing it over to his classmate. “Here, Miss Vallière.” The pinkette stared dumbly at the cape before realizing why exactly Guiche was giving it to her. Turning crimson herself, she stumbled back, awkwardly covering herself with it. “Now… back to you, thief.”

“I would loathe to kill a child, but no one will cry for _you_ , fourth of House Gramont. I’m sure you’re well aware.” Two golems became four, forming a protective wall in front of Fouquet. Guiche did not reply, merely matching the constructs with two more Valkyries of his own. Oh, he was well aware that he was out of his depth. Despite that, and despite the fear turning his legs into iron, he stood resolutely, prepared to throw a spell if need to.

“G-guiche… what are you—“

“Run, Louise. Help is on the way. I’ll hold him off.”

“A-are you mad? He’s at least a Triangle-Class Mage!”

“I’m well-aware.”

“Then I’ll help.” She put the staff down and clumsily wrapped herself with the mantle before seizing her harp.

“Can we not argue right now? You’re in no state to fight.”

“Says who?!”

“Look, just because you can levitate things now doesn’t mean you know—“

“I’ll just… explode him or something! Who cares?! Just let me—“ The golems advanced in a swift moment, breaking up their banter immediately as Guiche commandeered the Valkyries. His attention on the distraction was exactly what Fouquet wanted. With a quick command, ground under the young Gramont suddenly bulged out and made him lose his footing as he fell back with an unmanly shriek. The pink snot got subsequently distracted by his failing, but then one of Fouquet’s golems slipped past the Valkyrie wall and seized her arm, with the other three resolutely disposing of brass constructs in the ensuing chaos. The Vallière cried out in pain when the golem squeezed it to keep her from squirming, dropping both the Staff and the harp. True, the controller of the golems might have been just a little upset with the brat; the latter of which was pronounced when the golem stomped on the instrument in question, crushing it into fine paste.

“Foolish children. You, fight me? You couldn’t even pay enough attention not to bicker with each other.” Fouquet sneered, flicking her wand to encase the pinkette in earth bindings, keeping her upright. There was a reason for that; the thief was sick and tired of chasing after the pink snot, and the appearance of that Gramont skirt-chaser provided a very appropriate outlet to vent her frustrations on; something that she would make that brat watch. The golem that seized Louise was now holding Guiche by his wrists and not too gently as the other three melded into a single, larger construct.

“You will not get away with this…!”

“ _Au contraire_. I will in fact get away with not just this, but some bodily harm of young “Master” Gramont, at my own petty satisfaction.” Fouquet chuckled as the larger golem lifted Guiche off the ground, seizing his torso in its mighty hand. It was nowhere near as large as the initial thing, but it was still as big as an ogre, and presumably correspondingly strong. “Now, Miss Vallière… see for yourself the results of your defiance.”

Louise’s eyes widened like saucers as she started squirming harder, trying her damndest to escape the earth bindings. “No… don’t! Please, don’t…!” But the plea fell on deaf ears and the golem’s hand began slowly closing around Guiche. The young Gramont was still a little dizzy from his fall, but the sudden entrapment and the sudden press on all of his ribs quickly brought him back to life. First he croaked, then he groaned, then he started squirming to no avail, trying to escape just like Louise. The first rib went with a sickening crunch and he screamed, not at all used to any kind of grievous bodily harm. Then went the second.

“Don’t look away, Miss Vallière. Maybe then you’ll learn.” Guiche thrashed and screamed, both casting curses and pleading mercy in the golem’s grasp as Louise could only stare – and listen – in abject horror as more of his body was slowly, mercilessly crushed in the grasp of the golem. Tears running down her face as she futilely struggled to free herself.

“Stop it!” She screamed, but the thief could only laugh, enjoying this carnal sense of superiority. Ah, to lord these brats over, show them their place! There must have been no pleasure higher than this!

“STOP IT!” Louise cried out again, somehow drowning out Guiche’s tortured screaming. Fouquet laughed, unaware that nearby, the Staff of Destruction seemed to be responding to the noise all around it.

“Once a Zero, always a Zero! Daughter of the Heavy Wind?  That’s _rich!_ I’d have such a useless spawn discarded without a second thought in her shoes!”

Louise screamed again, begging for this all to stop… and then the sudden flash of lightning emanated from the Staff of Destruction before her scream, magnified by its properties, deafened everyone present. The shockwave bowled the smaller golem over and forced Fouquet to hide behind the bigger one as she screamed herself, trying to drown out the sheer wall of **_NOISE_** , this awful, discordant screech that made her ears bleed. Windows were shattered, Guiche went limp from the lack of consciousness, eyes rolled into his skull, and Louise’s scream drowned in its twisted, monstrous reflection before she too passed out, going limp in the bindings.

Suffice to say, the whole Academy was up in arms now. Fouquet, though fighting an urge to vomit and still near-deaf, was well-aware of that fact. Fuck the Staff, it was time to save herself. She tried to walk a few steps before stumbling, her whole head – nay, her whole body – feeling like it was an anvil of giants, pounded with a massive hammer that would smash anything in its way. Shakily, she gestured at the golem to carry her instead – commanding it to drop the blond fop beforehand - but before it could reach her, yet another fucking miracle happened and it collapsed on its back with its head turned into a crater, hit by lightning.

A familiar griffin and a familiar traitor to the Tristain crown landed nearby, swordwand drawn. Shortly after, that thrice-accursed vehicle came over and that thrice-accursed barbarian stepped out of it, face looking like it could kill. The Germanian strumpet was right behind him. Fouquet was surrounded. At this height of peril, barely able to walk and think, she ran out of smarmy wisecracks to use.

“…fucking hell.” And then her stomach finally failed her.


	15. The Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Three J's where action is happening.

“This is an outrage! Completely irresponsible and foolish! Do not taste my patience, boy!”

Moschee Gottfried Baldur von Anhalt-Zerbst, runic name “The Hammer”, and the younger of the two siblings, furrowed his brows. The Baronet of Dresden was being his usual self: arrogant, screechy, unwilling to compromise. A typical Noble’s Noble, really. With a sigh, the redhead chose to ignore impotent threats and focus on a more pressing matter: the three outsiders in a pickle.

“If you do not mind, I will apply the translation spell for all three of you. That way, you can simply explain the situation yourselves.” He smirked, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Is that fine with you, good people of Großesache?” A general murmur amongst the crowd seemed to approve of the idea.

“Hold it right there, you twice-damnable Zerbst mutt!” Von Wibke was not going to let the matter go so easily. The redhead sighed and turned towards the indignant baronet.

“Do you mind? I am trying to salvage this situation.”

“ _What_ is there to salvage? One of these vagabonds broke my nose for no reason!”

“Well, you’re not any uglier for it.” Moschee grinned in response, enjoying a few snickers from the crowd, hidden from von Wibke’s judgmental glare. “Anyway” Here he turned back to the three J’s. “What say you?”

“Fine by me. Putting that asshole over there in his place would be dandy.” Jamieson replied with a shrug, giving the baronet a stink eye.

“Plus, we wouldn’t have to be all weird with you guys.” Julio chimed in. Moschee raised an eyebrow at the wording, but then decided to just let it be. Outsiders. Kirche would have a field day with this one, no doubt.

“If  you could.” Jenny finalized with a short confirmation. Without further ado, the redhead casted three spells in succession before pocketing the wand. Not his usual kind of focus, but it’s been insisted that he… disarms some before coming to Großesache, on top of not letting any of his entourage in.

“Try it now.”

“So, uh, dudes, you guys understand us?” Julio tried uncertainly.

“Yes!” The kid that brought the redhead with him beamed goofily, happy to finally have found language with the strangers. Other locals from Großesache followed suit with confirmations of their own. Soon the crowd erupted with questions, greetings and general chatter. Moschee smiled to himself. A crowd of onlookers was almost a creature on its own; easy to judge and lash out, but equally easy to please and curry the favor of. It didn’t matter if it was commoners, bourgeoisie (which, as he understood, were just rich commoners prior to their induction into nobility), the nobles… if he were to guess, even Elves weren’t immune to the phenomenon.

“ENOUGH!” Von Wibke’s magically enhanced voice roared through the sky, silencing everyone present. Moschee looked over lazily, watching the baronet blow the gasket, face red with self-righteous indignation. Looks like this situation would not be resolved peacefully. “I will _not_ be ignored! I am Rudiger von Wibke, runic name “The Flayer”, Baronet of Dresden, man of great renown and impeccable martial ability! I am not some Upstart Commoner nor a paltry Ritter for you to just disregard as you please, Zerbst mutt!”

For the longest of moments, the silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The three J’s looked nervously between themselves and at the scene of political rivalry. The commoner inhabitants of Großesache also weren’t at ease. If the baronet tried to do something untoward, there would surely be consequences for him, but it would be a cold comfort for those whose houses he ruined in a fit. Wind Mages could cause a great deal of damage with just air currents alone. It wasn’t like the people could dispense justice themselves either; that would just invite the attention of _Schwarzreiters_ and spell doom for everyone here.

The only person unconcerned with the baronet’s outburst was a fellow redheaded noble. “Oh? And what do you propose we do with your wounded pride?”

“A duel! By the divine authority, I, Rudiger von Wibke, Baronet of Dresden challenge you, Moschee the Scoundrel to a—“

“Call me that again at your own peril.” The sudden increase of hostility caught everyone present off guard. At the drop of the hat, the redhead went from a casual, relaxed smirk to a frown and a killing glare. Even the baronet himself was given pause, suddenly finding himself a fool to want to duel the Zerbst mutt. While he managed to overcome the feeling of abject terror growing in the pit of his stomach, his wounded pride kept him from finding reason.

“…very well. I challenge you, Moschee Gottfried Baldur von Anhalt-Zerbst…“ Von Wibke made a face as if he was eating a sour grape. “to a duel over the right to decide the fate of these outsiders.”

“Now hold on a moment, you douchebag…” Jamieson started, but a gesture from Jenny kept him from doing something they’d all regret. She wasn’t happy about them being fought over like some kind of prized item, but the redhead seemed to be on their side, at the very least. Odds were, he would let them go if he won. If.

“Very well. We’ll do battle before the entrance to Großesache. I kindly request the presence of the _Schuldheiß_ to be an arbiter for our duel.”  Here, Moschee turned his attention to the people present. Some in the crowd scurried to fetch the village elder. “Have you any restrictions to the conditions, o Baronet?”

“No weapon other than a wand shall be used.” Of course. Von Wibke must have feared that Moschee would bring his mallet to the fray. “Nor shall there be anyone of your… troupe to oversee the fight.” The redhead frowned. There were instances in his past where his men pulled him out of trouble mid-duel. In those situations, a ritual fight was usually just there for Moschee to amuse himself with before he would inevitably cut the offender and his followers down. Heretics, Reconquista supporters, demonologists… there was no end of day for the Emperor’s Fist, after all.

Here, as far as he was concerned, nothing untoward was happening, beyond a petty noble’s wounded pride. “I accept these conditions. To those of my “troupe” in the crowd, go knock yourselves out at the tavern.”

“What do you mean, “in the crowd”?! Your lot was here the entire time?!” The sheer mixture of indignation and fear on von Wibke’s face was worth that announcement, even if it caused a mild panic amongst the commoners. Luckily for them, Moschee’s men had no interest in stirring unnecessary unrest and quickly excused themselves.

“Well, who knows? Now then… fifteen minutes for preparations. The one to yield loses.” With a bow that was just a tad bit mocking, the redhead made himself scarce, accompanied by hushed whispers of intrigue amongst the crowd.

“Uh… what about us?” Jenny inquired after it became apparent that they stopped being the main object of interest. Could they slip out of town unnoticed? Not likely; Jamieson’s ride wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Oh, you must come and see! It will be a mage duel!” The snot that approached them first grinned at the three J’s with the degree of innocence only a child could muster.

“A mage? Like… pew pew fireballs mage?” Julio asked, feeling a little confused.

“Exactly that! Sir Moschee is a Fire-and-Earth Mage. You must come and see. And, um… it’s probably better if you’re around, so the others don’t give chase.”

“No arguments there, kiddo.” Jamieson nodded. The troublesome douchebag – apparently a “baronet”, which sounded like a baron, but dumber – gave them a murderous glare as he passed by, but otherwise said nothing.

\----

The dueling ground was nothing special; just a clean patch of grass that the locals warded with a length of cloth. The three J’s were positioned on their own, with the local kid – his name was Burkhart, apparently – explaining things as they went. A crowd gathered on one side of the arena. While surrounding it might have given a better view, nobody really wanted to be hit with a spell of men whose runic names were “The Flayer” and “The Hammer” respectively.

On one end of the dueling ground stood Moschee, idly rolling his shoulders. Unconcerned with the afternoon chill, he walked sleeveless in a simple shirt and pantaloons, twirling his ordinary pinewood wand between his fingers like it was a simple stick and not a mage’s treasured focus. On the other end of the arena von Wibke has just finished undoing his cloak, presenting his much livelier and lavish attire in full; perhaps just a little too lavish for a noble of his station. With a near-pious, dramatic gesture he displayed his own wand for all to see; a tasteful article made of ebony. Jenny, being the most eagle-eyed of the three J’s, noticed a number of small notches just past the tip of the wand.

“Any idea what these are?” She asked the other two and Burkhart before realizing they probably have no idea what she means. “Er, I mean the notches.”

“A number of won duels. Some nobles seem to think their combat record in a sterilized, safe environment matters.” An unknown voice replied instead, cool and collected. It belonged to a tall, gaunt man in a large brown cloak. His face was hidden in the shadow of a hood, though Jenny could at the very least make out that he was clean-shaven.

“Sweet baby Ormagodden, you surprised the hell outta me…” Julio grumbled, having just picked himself up from a sudden jump. Jamieson spared him no end of snickers.

“I’ve always been there.” …did he? Something about his presence unnerved Jenny. He didn’t belong in the crowd despite looking like a mere traveler. Burkhart seemed to agree with her sentiment, shrinking a little despite himself. “Anyway, I am curious to see how this plays out.”

“Any bets?”

“For your own good, The Hammer must prevail.” Painting it like it was. The hooded stranger certainly wasn’t the one to deliberate on things for too long. Straight and to the point.

At the central point of the crowd, the village elder raised his wizened hand into the air. “Are lords combatants ready?” He called to the two nobles about to duel. Moschee stopped twirling the wand and assumed a more orthodox dueling pose while von Wibke merely nodded and drew his focus in return. “Then, by grace of Founder Brimir… begin!”

\----

Mage duels in Helkeginia were a lot like Western-esque showdowns at high noon. Yes, the fight wasn’t usually decided with a single shot, but the general principle was the same. One had to be quick on their feet, accurate and nimble to avoid being shot. Big, flashy spells were for battles and for posturing.

Moschee might not have known what a Western was, but he had the basics of a duel down pat. He suspected that, for all of his bluster, so did von Wibke. One did not call himself “The Flayer” if he didn’t have something to show. Indeed, the very first thing the Baronet of Dresden was once the village elder gave the go-ahead was to throw a quick Dot spell, a lash of an air whip that could strip skin with its force. The redhead replied with a… roll. Naturally, he could neutralize the attack with his own magic, but his principle of conducting combat hadn’t failed him so far.

Make yourself look like a buffoon, then strike with precision once your opponent has their guard down. Indeed, for a fraction of a second as he rolled out of the way, Moschee caught von Wibke smirking like he already won. Good; now it was time to wipe it off his face. Casting a spell while in such complicated motion wasn’t an easy task, but larger things were expected of him before.

A simple rock, aimed at the baronet’s wand-holding hand, shot out of the redhead’s focus. Von Wibke scoffed and turned the wand up to conjure a wall of air current, causing the rock to stop in the air shortly before him. “Clever little move there, Zerbst mutt, but your little diversionary ploy has faiiiiiIIIIIAAAAAGH!” It was a matter of a single stroke of the wand to light a simple spark. On its own, it wouldn’t be able to light a campfire, but since the baronet so graciously provided Moschee with enough air current to turn it into a blazing fire…

“Idiot.” Straightening himself out, the redhead watched his opponent desperately try to put out the fire he enveloped himself in as the crowd roared in shock at such a sudden turn of events. So many nobles didn’t bother understand the world and its basic laws, believing their magic to be infallible – but certain things held true, Brimir or no Brimir. Naturally, Moschee didn’t expect this to be the end. At worst, Von Wibke would be missing his eyebrows and have his monkey suit ruined, but he wasn’t out of commission yet.

Indeed, the baronet finally dispersed the fire cloud, glaring daggers at his opponent. The burn marks were there, all over his face, but it was nothing a good Water Mage couldn’t fix. “You miserable excuse for a noble!” He snarled, throwing his wand arm way back to prepare his spell of Flaying Winds. The gesture was grand, dramatic and ponderous. In other words, he was wide open.

With a sigh, Moschee flicked his wand sideways, spraying a burst of fire into his opponent’s face. This one was barely an attack; yet another distraction banking on the baronet’s base instincts of self-preservation. Indeed, instinctually he closed his eyes and shielded his face with his arm, hissing when the flames licked at his sleeve… but if the Zerbst mutt thought that would stop him, he had another thing coming.

**_“Flaying Winds!”_** Von Wibke cried out the name of the spell, sending a flurry of air whips towards Moschee’s location. That spell had stripped giant beasts off their skin and quartered lesser ones like meat at a butcher’s workshop. For a Line Mage, the sheer power of the attack was abnormal, befitting someone a class higher. It was the baronet’s pride, his ace in the hole. No opponent of his withstood such an onslaught. Some shielded themselves with their own magic, but the power of Flaying Winds cut through their barriers, physical or ethereal, and then cut through them.

The onlookers cried out in terror when the corkscrew of air speared through the time and space, strong enough to pull the grass from underneath. Nobody stood there, and luckily so; a lesser man would no doubt perish under such a terrible attack.

Wait… nobody stood there?

“Cool trick.” Baronet’s blood ran cold when he heard a familiar voice just behind him. He wasn’t even given a moment to turn; in a moment the ground gave up from under his leg with a violent movement, the other struggling to keep him up as a muscular bronze arm wrapped around his neck, having him ingloriously dangle about, struggling and sputtering. “Mine’s called a necklock.”

“W-what? That’s a breach of protocol…!” The baronet sputtered angrily, struggling to breathe.

“Is it?” Moschee grinned and turned to the village elder. “Honored _Schuldheiß_ , am I perchance using a weapon other than a wand?”

“N-not really, no.” The wizened leader of Großesache had seen quite a lot in his life, but never was it a mage duel transitioning into a bar brawl – and with the same contestants, nonetheless.

“And are there any of my “troupe” watching this duel right now?” This time the redhead called no one in particular, addressing the crowd at large. There was no response. Von Wibke struggled to try and point his wand at the offending mutt, but he was too late; already was his wand hand seized by Moschee’s. Oh Founder, what embarrassment! To be defeated in such… commoner fashion?! What did he do wrong?

“Let go of me, you mutt!” He croaked out, struggling to free himself.

“Are you yielding?”

“No!” Von Wibke sputtered again when the arm on his neck tightened just a little bit.

“Well, then I guess we’re gonna be staying here for a bit. You three!” The redhead turned his attention to the three J’s. “Pack your things. We’ll be leaving shortly.”

“As if I’ll let youuuungh…!”

“Now now, o Baronet. To breach the sanctity of a duel is most untoward.” Moschee grinned. It was fun, watching someone who deemed himself superior to you flounder about like a fish out of water under your thumb. Or arm, in that case. “Now, are you yielding?”

“You’ll not get away with thiiingghg…!”

“Are you yielding?” Amongst the J’s, something struck Jenny as odd. She turned to look at the hooded stranger – but he wasn’t there. There wasn’t a trace that he even stood there to begin with. The grass looked as if nobody stepped on it, let alone stood on it for a period of time.

“…guys, where did that creepy guy go…?” She asked Julio and Jamieson.

“What do you mean? He’s over the-oh crap, he’s not there.” The Headbanger blinked and frowned at the sudden absence of the stranger. “Did he leave or…?”

“No, that looks like he was never there. Did you see anything, Burkhart?”

“Um? Sorry, I was looking at the fight the entire time. Did something happen?” …strange. What exactly transpired here?

Back to the duel, Von Wibke finally went limp in the grasp of his opponent. He was still huffing angrily, but no longer was he making an effort to escape. “So, are you yielding?” Moschee asked him with a grin. After a moment of fighting with his own thoughts, the baronet decided to concede and merely nodded, gritting his teeth. He was let go and just sort of collapsed on his knees, coughing and gasping for air. “Well, that’s that. Honored _Schuldheiß_ , your verdict, if you please.”

The village elder rose from his seat with the assistance of one of the villagers and sighed to himself. At this point it was just cruel to the baronet – not that he liked the noble whelp much – to rub his defeat in everyone’s faces. “The winner is Sir Moschee von Anhalt-Zerbst!” The crowd roared in approval, applauding and calling out in merriment. Von Wibke decided not to tempt fate and quietly excused himself from the dueling grounds, giving the three J’s a glare before slinking off back to the village, presumably to lick his wounds and get some ointment for his slight burns. Burkhart, sadly, wasn’t there to congratulate them on their acquired freedom, having been summoned by his rightfully worried parents back home.

“And so it is that The Hammer prevails.” The hooded stranger spoke up, showing up out of the blue once more. Or did he stand there the entire time and they were just going crazy? Nobody could tell. “You’re in luck, otherworlders.”

“…wait, how did you—“

“I’ve seen your kind before, though that one appeared even less human than the dwarf over there.” The stranger pointed at Julio. His finger was thin and pale.

“Dude, who are you calling a dwarf? I’m just…compact-sized, alright?” The Headbanger replied defensively.

“More importantly, you smell of novelty. Of mystique. Yours is the smell of one who does not belong to this world, and so was his.”

“Wait, “his”?! You mean Eddie?!” Jamieson turned to look at the stranger.

“Nay, though the name left his lips.” So someone who wasn’t Eddie, but knew Eddie? That was a good sign nonetheless! Could it possibly be so easy, finding their man so soon? “He travels as part of The Hammer’s troupe, the carnival of killers and cutthroats that pledged their royalty to the man over there.” Here the stranger pointed at Moschee approaching them.

“Now now, don’t make it sound like we’re some sort of brigand band.” The redhead laughed, waving off the stranger’s eerie words before turning his attention to the three J’s. “We were never formally introduced, were we?”

“Oh, uh… I’m Julio. This here is my girlfriend, Jenny.” The compact-built member of the rescue group gestured to the Razor Girl. “The big guy over there is Jamieson.”

“Well, I’m quite envious, Mr. Julio.” Like a true gentleman, the redhead bowed politely before the lady, gently taking her hand into his and gracing it with a kiss. “Such beautiful creatures are a rare breed.”

“Dude, you’re creeping me out.” Jenny pulled her hand back with a frown, surprising Moschee. He couldn’t have known this, naturally, but that kind of talk would set any Razor Girl off. That was largely how Lionwhyte and his men referred to them: “beautiful creatures”. “Thanks for saving our butts there, but don’t ever do that again.”

“Well, I’ll have to apologize then.” It seems that Moschee wasn’t going to argue about that. In fact, he looked slightly sheepish at the rejection. “Findralvandrel already told me you’re from another world, but I didn’t expect the culture clash to be so strong.”

“Findralvandrel is me.” The stranger, likely doubting the J’s reasoning abilities, decided to clear that mystery right away. “Now, The Hammer, are we ready to leave?”

“Yeah. Helmut had the tumor excised, if you will.” Findralvandrel frowned. Moschee liked to use most various euphemisms to describe his work, like they weren’t just wandering about and killing scores of people seemingly at random. Perhaps he just liked to believe that he was doing a more gallant and noble thing than being Albrecht III’s personal black ops specialist. “Now then… do you mind tagging along our merry troupe, if only for a time? It’s my understanding that otherworlders usually don’t arrive in Helkeginia lest there’s an accident or a powerful purpose guiding them.”

“Actually, yeah, we’re kind of looking for someone…”

“Then let us discuss the matter back at our base of operations. Findralvandrel, we’re off!” Without further ado, the redhead led the way, walking briskly ahead. The hooded man gave the three J’s a look and a nod before joining his superior.

“…I guess we don’t have much of a choice, huh…” Jamieson groused, turning the ignition of his ride on. “But who is this guy who supposedly knows Eddie? You think it’s some other Ironheade?”

“Better be, or there’s gonna be a fight, lemme tell you.” Julio grumbled in agreement, hopping onto the bike and inviting Jenny on. Soon the Thunderhog motorcycle joined the briskly marching Moschee and Findralvandrel just kind of walking in no discernible fashion right behind him.

“Good, you’re back with us. Now, it’s a bit of a walk to the camp. Why not tell me the whole story?”


	16. Celestial Dream

Louise floated.

  
Dimly aware of herself and her surroundings, all that she knew for certain was that there was no ground under her feet. Was she clothed? Was she blind? Was she deaf? She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t tell anything. Soon however, first sounds reached her. She struggled to see, to look that direction. Lo and behold, first images reached her shortly after. They were small and quiet at first, as if seen and heard from very far away, but that changed soon enough. It grew and grew, until it grew all over her and she was in the middle of it. The deafening roar briefly robbed her of awareness, but then things finally became clear as she came to.

  
Two titans did battle below, in the wasteland laid with bones and jewels. Skulls and emeralds, ribs and rubies, femurs and sapphires… the gargantuan creatures fighting with each other held little regard for these things, trampling over countless dead and countless riches. Louise couldn’t make their shapes yet, but she was well-aware that should they spot her, it would be the end of her. Dream or not, these massive beings would turn her into a wet smear on the floor.

  
One creature was on four legs, belching fire and roaring symphonies of destruction. The other was a biped, smashing its monstrous arms against the opponent in complete silence. Antitheses of each other, fire and water, light and darkness. Louise felt embarrassed. Embarrassed and ashamed that it was her witnessing such a grand battle and not someone more worthy of such station. Why not Kirche or Tabitha? Why not Guiche? Why not Siesta? Why not Eddie?

  
Why was it her?

  
Before she knew it, the huge biped reached for her. She found herself held tightly in its grip, but she did not squirm. Something about this felt definite for Louise, like it was her final life, her final being. Then, however, she saw the small figure that she previously thought for a protrusion on the biped’s head, and finally things came to her. The menacing grin hidden under a masking cowl, a spiked mace in hand and a familiar blond in the other, hanging lifelessly from the monster thief’s grip.

  
“Let go of him!” Louise cried out, suddenly overcome with abject terror. Monster-Fouquet merely laughed and pointed the spiky end of the mace – the dreaded Staff of Destruction – towards Guiche’s torso. It cackled, watching the pinkette struggle fruitlessly for a bit before he – no, it – plunged the staff right through his body, accompanied by an explosion of gore and bones most foul, sending shards everywhere. Guiche gurgled ingloriously, his eyes rolling into his skull.

  
“NO! I’ll ruin you! I’ll end you!” Louise screamed, despair giving way to righteous rage. She tried even harder to break free, but the biped would not let go and the other beast seemed to have vanished amidst all this. She couldn’t be saved. The monster thief slowly turned the mace – still soaked in Guiche’s blood and entrails – and, with a howling laugh, plunged it forward into Louise’s face…

  
\----

…only for her to startle awake with a scream. Cold sweat all over her, it took her a while to realize that she was back in reality, in the Academy’s infirmary, and that her sudden awakening spooked Kirche off her chair. “W-wha…?”

  
“So that’s the thanks I’m getting for watching over you?” The redhead groused half-mockingly, pulling herself back up from the floor with a selection of ow’s and ouch’es on her lips. Louise blinked again. She was in an infirmary bed, in a nightgown almost certainly too big for her.

  
“W-what’s… what’s going on…?” The pinkette asked uncertainly, looking around in confusion.

  
“You were asleep for two days.” Another familiar voice reached her. Louise turned to see her betrothed, Jean-Jacques, slowly coming into the infirmary without his hat. It suddenly came to the third of house of Vallière that perhaps she was being a little too underdressed for meetings like these. “How are you feeling, Louise?”

  
“I, um, er…”

  
“Ah, that must be pre-marital embarrassment.” Kirche chuckled, but something about her laugh was wrong. There was no teasing there, malicious or otherwise. No, if anything, the redhead’s laugh was quite humorless; a first time Louise heard Zerbst have a mood like that. “Well, I’ll come visit at a later date. I trust you to be on good behavior, viscount.” No, there was no mistaking it: Kirche was giving Jean-Jacques a glare. What was going on? Any other situation, she’d probably try to flirt with him in some way. But no, she left without much fanfare.

  
“I think I left a poor impression on _Mademoiselle_ Zerbst on our first meeting.” The viscount sighed. The bags under his eyes spoke of his exhaustion. It seemed the last two days were quite tiring for everyone involved. “May I sit there?”

  
“Y-yes, naturally…” Louise blushed again. Something came to her mind. “Wait… Guiche…? And what do you mean you’ve met…?”

  
“Young Gramont is recovering, but he hasn’t woken up yet.” Wardes confirmed with a nod as he took the seat. There was no mistaking it, her chosen husband was quite tired himself. “And it was more of a chance meeting than anything else. Let’s not talk about that.” Despite looking like he went through an ordeal himself, the viscount managed a soft, calming smile. “How are you feeling?”

  
“Well, I…” How was she feeling? “…I don’t know. I… I almost got Guiche killed because of my stupid bravado…”

  
“No, do not think of it like that. Young Gramont showed up on his account, as I’ve been told. His was a brave thing to do. And, if you weren’t there, perhaps he wouldn’t be with us anymore.” Wardes frowned. “The thief took out her frustrations on him quite thoroughly.”

  
“…wait, her?”

\----

“I am ashamed to admit that I never suspected anything.” Jean Colbert, bandage over his head, looked down in shame. The atmosphere in the Headmaster’s office was a defeated one. Though Fouquet had been taken, the reveal of her identity as Miss Loungeville – if that was her actual personage to begin with – did little to rebuild the morale of the staff. Eddie could get that, especially in face of Louise and Guiche’s ill-fated meeting with the thief.

  
“Not just you, Jean. She had us all played for fools.” Old Osmond wasn’t the kind to easily reveal his emotions – and his beard helped plenty in that regard – but even he wasn’t immune to the deafeningly terrible air in the office. “Brimir’s balls, she was my secretary. I should know better than that.”

  
“Oh, you say that too.” Words left Eddie’s mouth before he gave them much thought. The two educators looked at him. “Uh, sorry. Just… just an observation.”

  
“Either way… I invited you here, Mr. Riggs, as well as you” Here the old headmaster turned to look at the strange sword on the roadie’s hip. “Mr. Halford, to see if you can confirm the identity and true purpose of the Staff of Destruction.”

  
“One hell of an apt name. Seriously, there were glass shards everywhere and… sheesh, both Louise and Quiche and that Fouquet chick were just messed up by it, man… How can you not sort that stuff up?”

  
“It’s easier said than done, especially if the item in question comes from another world.” Colbert replied with a shake of his head. “It was originally excavated near Tarbes by pure accident. A local baron – a Wind Mage by affinity – had a drunken tryst with some of the locals and, at the height of merriment, fired a Wind spell at the ground. The Staff resonates with sound and air in a peculiar way, as you’ve seen and heard.”

  
“…did he survive or…?”

  
“Oh no, he was quite fine. He just swore off alcohol forever.” Colbert allowed himself a wry smile. “It was something of a Founder’s grace that everyone survived unscathed, because the ground quite literally exploded from under their feet.”

  
“Later on, a group of royal researchers confirmed that the Staff amplifies sound in truly disastrous ways, hence the name. It’s been deemed too dangerous to be held in Tristania and so ended up here.” Osmond concluded the story before presenting the menacing mace, putting it on the desk. “Now then, if you please…”

  
“That’s Lionwhyte’s.” Lars spoke up with barely a moment of pause. “Edward, could you please move me around? I’d like to confirm that I’m not going blind.”

  
“Pretty sure that’s Lionwhyte’s, alright.” Still, the roadie unstrapped Battle Cry and carefully held it over the staff. Tacky flags, faint presence of glitter, a huge menacing club at the end, a vague aura of douchebaggery surrounding it… You couldn’t mistake it with anything else. “This, gentlemen, is a microphone.”

  
“It belonged to a man who colluded with demons under pretenses of keeping us, people of Bladehenge, saved from their influence, General Lionwhyte.” Lars continued the story. “He kept us under his boot until Edward arrived to help us free ourselves from the shackles.”

  
“Didn’t do nothin’, man. I just helped a bit, all part of the roadie’s job.”

  
“You don’t have to be humble. Your accomplishments to the cause of Ironheade cannot be understated.”

  
“Hm… but why does it not have the spirit of this Lionwhyte inside, like Mr. Halford’s blade?” Colbert asked, rubbing his chin in thought. “And what exactly is a microphone?”

  
“If I were to guess, the guy just gave up after we beat up his glitter punks.” Eddie shrugged indifferently. “Wouldn’t dwell on it. Hell, the last thing we need is that hairy douchebag being all “but my project” and all that.”

  
“As for a microphone, it is exactly as you said, Headmaster.” Lars spoke. “It amplifies sound. As Edward explained to me, microphones of the future generally are smaller and not quite as dangerous, but the purpose is the same. They’re used to sing, not to kill.”

  
“Yeah, you just get a big enough audience, you need to have everyone hear you.” The roadie chimed in, seeing slight confusion on the faces of two Tristanians. “It’s not like, I dunno, singing in a tavern.”

  
“I can see that. I think.” Colbert nodded.

“So what’ll happen to that mike?”

“For now it’ll remain in my office. It’s the second most secure place in the Academy.” Osmond replied, putting the horrible thing away. “For the time being that will have to do. We’ll have to investigate how exactly it interacts with Miss Vallière. She was the one that set the damnable thing off, after all.” Eddie frowned. Louise must have had a real set of pipes on her to completely disable Fouquet with a single scream. That, or maybe it was this Void business showing up again. “…and speaking of Vallières, we will have to prepare for an arrival of her mother…”

  
\----

Louise and Guiche were not resting in the same infirmary. At the headmaster’s suggestion, the fourth of house Gramont was moved to a separate room. They both had plenty of visitors, but one particular person never left Guiche’s side this entire time.

  
“…Montmorency?” Malicorne du Grandple, Guiche’s self-proclaimed best friend, shuffled inside the room nervously. The blonde was there, sitting stiff as a statue, her hand gently caressing Gramont’s. She didn’t turn to acknowledge Malicorne in the slightest. “Er… I know t-this isn’t my thing, maybe, but… I think you should get some rest. You’ve been sitting here for a whole day…“

  
“I’m fine, Malicorne.” Montmorency replied quietly, in a tone of someone who was decidedly not fine. “I’ll stay with him a bit longer, if that’s alright.”

  
“Look, you haven’t eaten anything the whole day—“

  
_“I said I’m fine.”_ This time she turned to look at him, and Malicorne shrunk even more in his spot. Oh, she was definitely not fine, but what could he do? He wasn’t much of a talker; most talking was done by Guiche. Malicorne was comfortable in his position as his number two, and now that the fourth of house Gramont was fast asleep on the infirmary bed, he truly was at a loss. Naturally, his plight couldn’t compare to Montmorency’s. Their marriage might have been arranged, but even now they were hitting it off well. Sure, Guiche liked to chase skirts and she gave him grief for it, but all of that just seemed like a strange mating dance between the two. Eventually, he would apologize, she would accept, and then they would share a kiss. If not for all the antics involved, it would have been cute.

  
“E-excuse me, I brought a fresh change of bedclothes for Master Gramont…” A meek voice brought Malicorne back to earth, a voice that he recognized as one of the maid girls. Sure enough, the black-haired one showed up with an assortment of shirts and pants. She shrunk a little when she saw Montmorency.

  
But then the blonde turned and Malicorne suddenly found himself in the middle of a raging storm. “ _You_. You’re the one that led my Guiche to his horrible fate!” Monmon rose from her seat, her expression twisted with rage. “How dare you show your filthy commoner face here?!” She was by them, approaching like a furious water elemental. The maid did not dare run or move a muscle, her lower lip quivering in fear. “Get out of the way, Malicorne.”

  
“M-mon—“

  
“ _Get out of the way_ , or BRIMIR help me, I’ll turn you into a bowl of jelly!” Montmorency was grieving, that much was true, but he couldn’t let her take it out on others, commoners or not. From what he understood, Zero – pardon, Vallière – would be as good as dead without Guiche coming in to intervene. Steeling himself for becoming a bowl of jelly, Malicorne stood firm, fixing a stern glare at Montmorency. “You little…! She told him to fight! She told him to fight Fouquet herself!”

  
“He saved Vallière.”

  
“He almost died because of that pink-haired incompetent! Save Zero?! Like I give a damn about her!”

  
“He’ll make a recovery.”

  
“That golem powdered his ribs, and that stupid staff rattled the rest of his bones! It’s a miracle his organs are in one piece!” But then, in an instant, her rage left her and Montmorency collapsed on her knees, eyes filling with water. “…he almost died, Malicorne…” Guiche’s number two just didn’t know what to do in situations like these. Awkwardly, he helped Monmon to her feet.

  
“Come on, Montmorency, you need some rest too…” Briefly nodding at the maid, he helped the blonde leave the room, accompanied by her choked sobs. Siesta watched them go with bated breath, but it was only until their steps went quiet did she allow herself to relax. With a tired sigh of her own she approached Guiche’s bed with her clothes.  
Miss Montmorency was quite right. Even if that was the right thing to do – otherwise, Louise might have died – she was the one who planted the seed of an idea in Master Gramont’s head. Siesta felt grief and frustration, but at the same time these thoughts fought with a fulfilled sense of duty. She had to do what she had done, but… perhaps there was some way to make it up to the blond sleeping before her?

  
Siesta had an idea.

  
\----

  
Tabitha had come to realize that she didn’t know that much about Kirche in the first place.

  
They were in her room again; the redhead’s favorite staying place these days. This time, she was introduced to a talking sword. It - he? - was in quite a sorry state, but didn’t appear any bothered by the rust and dirty marks all over it. As it turned out however, Kirche knew a thing or two about maintaining weapons.

  
“It’s a bit of a funny story, really.” She laughed, carefully swiping the oily cloth over the blade. “My father was the supervisor of Albrecht II’s royal armory back in a day. Most Mages would turn up their noses at such a position, but he’s a weapon enthusiast down to his core. He taught me some of his craft, both mundane and magical.”

  
“Oh, it definitely, oh! Ticklish… definitely shows, girl… got that killer touch…” Suffice to say, Derf much enjoyed being serviced. After Eddie was pulled for a talk with a Headmaster, Kirche found herself in possession of a magical talking blade for the time being.

  
“Didn’t know that.” Tabitha admitted truthfully, watching the procedure curiously. The redhead blessed her with an earnest smile.

  
“I suppose I never mentioned it beforehand. Well, not like I can swing a sword anyway. That’s more of my brother’s profession.” She said, continuing the procedures. “In other news, Louise is getting better.”

  
“That’s good…” Naturally, the bluenette was nothing if not observant. “…so why the long face?”

  
“It’s the viscount of Wardes.” Silently, Kirche kicked herself for not making more of an effort to appear in better spirits. “Something about him is… sketchy.”

  
“Sketchy?”

  
“No kidding.” Derf cut in with a grumble. His craft was simple, but well-made. Whoever brought him into being knew their blacksmithing craft. “Ya still worried ‘bout that fake robbery?”

  
“How can I not be? That kind of ploy doesn’t happen without a good reason. Plus, if he’s to be Louise’s husband, I must make sure that he is an adequate fit for my rival, mustn’t I? I wouldn’t want her to marry some kind of manipulative cutthroat.”

  
“I think Duchess wouldn’t allow that.”

  
“If she knows…” The most frustrating matter for Kirche was that she didn’t know what this all was for. Was it even a fake robbery? Perhaps the viscount really did get caught flat-footed? Perhaps his servant’s gun really was enchanted? “…agh, what a pain in the rear. It’s bad enough that Fouquet almost killed Louise and Guiche…”

  
“How’s he?”

  
“Healing, but still asleep.” The redhead gave Derflinger one more control look before putting the cloth away. “Alright, that’s that for now.” The rust still didn’t want to peel away completely, but they were making steady, slow progress.

  
“Aw. I was hoping for more of that gentle touch.”

  
“You’ll have to excuse me, Sir Derflinger, but I reserve that for my flesh-and-blood friends.” Kirche smiled wryly, walking over to the desk to deposit the blade there. “You’re free to watch though.”

  
“Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess…” Derf conceded the matter with a chuckle, tittering on the desk slightly. Tabitha blinked, realizing that she’s become a target for the red comet headed her way. Before she could voice an objection, Kirche was already there, holding her close with a pout on her pretty face. Naturally, she didn’t bother buttoning her shirt in full – the bluenette wasn’t sure if her Germanian friend could – so there was a lot of take in from this close.

  
But this time there was very little in the way of teasing and playing; Kirche seemed content to just hold Tabitha close. “I feel like we’re becoming a part of something greater, Tabby.” She muttered. The bluenette replied with a non-committal hum, hugging her friend back. “…and I don’t know if I like it.”


	17. Angel

Mathilda de Sachsen-Gotha, known as Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth, _also_ known as Miss Loungeville was, for lack of a better term, absolutely livid.

The whole plan went tits up, and she only really had herself to blame for it. The idea was insultingly simple: breach the Vault, grab the Staff, leave for greener pastures. Even with unwanted onlookers she could just make a run for it. It wouldn’t matter if she arose the pursuit from the entire Academy, they wouldn’t ever find her in the woods.

But no, _of course_ she had to give in to her own hubris. Leave it to herself to fuck up such a simple plan. Ugh. What now? No doubt her superiors weren’t pleased with this development. Now locked in one of the spare rooms under constant surveillance from the academics outside, with no focus and no hope of escaping, Mathilda had to throw in the towel. Naturally, this wasn’t the end of her problems. Her superiors no doubt could find another capable Earth mage if they so desired, and so she has become obsolete. That thought alone terrified her more than any possible interrogation could, even should it come from The Heavy Wind herself (and she no doubt was making her way to the academy right now).

It meant that the orphanage was no longer safe.

The doors opened and a familiar figure shuffled in. “Pardon the intrusion.” Wardes. While Mathilda was supposed to steal the Staff of Destruction, his job was to stall the terrible Ed of Germania. The greenette gave him a sour look, watching the viscount idly hang his hat on one of the coat hangers in the room.

“What do you want?”

“Let you know how things stand, of course.” He replied in this annoyingly cool tone of voice, folding his arms. “Though perhaps I should start by saying that—“

“That I screwed the pooch? Yeah, spare me.”

“…also that. But no, I’ve been told to inform you that the orphanage is safe for now.”

“And when is the “now” going to expire?” Wardes smiled thinly in response.

“Should you try to do something untoward and implicate me or the men behind us.” So now she couldn’t even take that smug bastard down with her. Denied even this last satisfaction! Then again, that kind of self-absorbed thought brought her defeat in the first place. “I cannot stress this enough, since you’ll likely have both The Heavy Wind and The Avalanche breathing down your neck.” A pause. It seemed Wardes was taking a great deal of interest behind the conflicted selection of emotions all over Mathilda’s face. “And there’s no telling if our dear monarch-in-waiting won’t show up too.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I take small victories, considering that we’ve lost the big one.” The crooked smile vanished from the viscount’s face. “Worry not. I’ll see that you are freed from custody, be it here or at the Royal Prison. You can thank your benefactors for their magnanimity later on.” Wardes picked up his hat again, turning it in his hand in search of impurities. “Just keep in mind that a second failure will not do, both for you or for the orphanage.” With a code-regulated bow – that now seemed more insulting than anything – the viscount left the room, leaving Mathilda to stew with her own angry thoughts.

\----

“So how are you feeling, Louise?”

How did the pinkette feel? She was better than yesterday, at the very least, but not by much. Initially, it seemed like she was good to go and resume her student duties, but the ground gave out from under her the moment she slipped out of bed. Apparently, the Fouquet incident cost her a lot of willpower and it would take a couple of days to fully recover.

“Well, I’ve been… better.” People came and visited her semi-regularly. Kirche and Tabitha, Jean-Jacques, Eddie… Siesta even showed up with the latter once, though not for long. She treasured her arrival all the same. Now, sitting in her bed with the huge roadie for a company, she tried to explain just how exactly she was feeling. “I should be good to leave the bed tomorrow, the head nurse said.”

“Awesome. Then I have to put a pedal to the metal.” Louise looked at her familiar in mild confusion. “Oh yeah, what happened to the harp?”

“Fouquet’s golem crushed it…” The pinkette admitted dejectedly.

“That sucks. Well, we’ve been in Tristania to pick up something else for you. Think you’ll like it.”

“…it? What do you mean, an instrument?”

“Yeah, I suppose. How else can you rock if not without a neat set of strings?” Well, the obvious answer was that Louise couldn’t. Frankly, she didn’t give much thought about the notion of her magic for these few days, more worried about Guiche’s state and her own fate once her mother would arrive. No doubt there would be a lot of disappointment involved.

“Why the long face, Louise?” Ah. Curses, did she let her doubt shine through?

“I, uh… it’s just… I don’t know. A noble should be responsible with their magic and I… I almost got Guiche killed and—“

“Alright, first of all. Did you, personally, crush him with a giant golem?” After a moment of hesitation, the pinkette shook her head in silence. “Did you specifically request Quiche to show up and save your bacon?”

“N-no, but… negligence…”

“Louise, the only reason he’s alive is because of you.” The third of house Vallière blinked at this sudden revelation. Gently, Eddie took her hand and held it in his. She couldn’t believe how much of a size difference there was; it was almost like his belonged to a whole another creature. “I know we got lucky there, but if you weren’t around, Fouquet would get away and Quiche would not be with us.” Once that realization reached her, Louise gave the roadie a slow nod. “You made that mike sing and it blew that green bitch’s socks off.”

“Alongside my own and Guiche’s… and half of my monthly allowance to get the new windows…” Eddie couldn’t retort to that little tidbit, only offering an awkward smile of encouragement. Much to his relief, Louise smiled in kind. “…but yes, I… I suppose I did save the day?”

“No supposing. You did good, girl.”

“Well… here’s hoping that my mother feels the same…”

\----

Old Osmond had a reputation of being largely unflappable, the kind that would not panic or falter even in the face of a rampaging elder dragon.

If he were to guess, having both Karin Désirée de La Vallière and Jean-Baptiste Louis du Gramont in a single room was far more dangerous than any overgrown lizard could be. They might have looked calm and composed, but the old headmaster knew better than that. To assume naively was to invite trouble upon his already troubled head. One could not thread in any other way but lightly when the finest mages of Tristain were observing, eyes more befitting of bloodthirsty predators than the cultural elite of the country.

“Thank you for coming.” Still, Osmond could not let himself be intimidated. There was a matter to discuss after all. “I trust you received my missives without a problem.”

“Yes, and I would quite like to know the reason for their sending.” General Gramont, a man of incredible form and of well-kept facial hair, despite getting in on years, spoke with a tone dangerously soft for a military man. The softer they spoke, the more furious they usually were. “I trust that Karin’s daughter would not be so reckless to train her explosive spells at anyone, so the cause must have been from the outside.”

Osmond looked over at the Duchess. Her eyes were closed and she was completely silent, still like a statue. That too wasn’t a good sign. “We’ve been a target of an audacious burglary of Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth. She attempted to secure one of the artifacts from our vault, the so-called Staff of Destruction, the very one you see here.” The headmaster gestured towards the aforementioned staff. Karin’s eyes slowly opened as she examined the object.

“By accident, young Miss Vallière was by the scene of the crime. She made a brave attempt at foiling the thief by securing the Staff and retreating with it. Young Mister Gramont came in by another happenstance” Osmond decided to omit the maid’s involvement. An enraged parent was a terrible force to be reckoned with, and he didn’t feel like taking chances with either The Heavy Wind or The Avalanche. “to her rescue.”

“Am I to understand that you let some two-bit thief infiltrate the school grounds and harm your students?” The slightly raised timbre of General Gramont’s voice spoke of brewing trouble. The headmaster barely stopped himself from a weary sigh. “Has something changed and teachers no longer patrol the school grounds?”

“Fouquet incapacitated Professor Colbert, who had been patrolling then, beforehand. On behalf of the entire facility, I can only apologize.”

“Has the thief escaped?” Karin spoke for the first time since the beginning of this meeting.

“No. Thanks to young Miss Vallière and young Mister Gramont’s efforts, Fouquet had been captured.” And again, Osmond decided to omit the matter of shattered windows all over the academy grounds, not like they weren't noticeable anyway. He fixed his, at the very least, but replacing others would probably take quite some time and quite some Écu.

“I see. And how are they?”

“Your daughter is in good health, though still shaken and short of willpower. Young Mister Gramont is recovering as well, but he hasn’t woken up yet.” Osmond caught General Gramont’s nervous shift in his seat in the corner of his eye. “Professor Puidemont is attending to them as best as he can, but the process will take time.”

“May I see her?” Ah, the ten thousand Écu question. The headmaster’s face remained impassive even as Duchess’ eyebrow rose ever so slightly, indicating impatience. They stayed like this for a few moments. General Gramont cleared his throat with an awkward cough.

“Yes, though I would like to advise gentleness.”

“Don’t tell me how to raise my daughter, headmaster.” For a moment, Osmond feared that the proverbial beehive just dropped off the tree and it’s high time to escape, but then Karin’s expression softened into a wistful, slightly melancholic one. “I can have nothing but praise for her.”

\----

Tabitha had observed a curious phenomenon recently.

She already knew from Kirche that Ed of Germania was planning to prepare an instrument for Louise. It seemed the redhead wasn’t particularly concerned about the ill-fated end of her harp. Slightly miffed, perhaps, but a Kirche from a few weeks back would no doubt demand a reparation in twofold, and without a moment of hesitation. Tabitha couldn’t help but smile. She knew what her mission was, but at the very least Louise could be at ease before she was forced to take action.

…shame. She would prefer to do anything but that, but the circumstances simply were unwelcoming for her. But enough of that. Self-pity would come at another time. For now, she had to wonder just what the Germanian skald was doing. It seemed like… a leather bracelet? But what for? For what purpose?

…and why was he strapping studs onto it? Nay, not even studs – these looked positively dangerous to have anywhere near flesh. Despite the strangeness of the situation, Tabitha couldn’t help but admire the sheer degree of detail and care he was putting into his work, carefully assembling the accessory. Another one, with smaller spikes, was already finished and resting by him, together with two pendants identical to the one she saw on Siesta the other day. The shape was indeed the same, as was the material used and even its quality. In a paranoid fit, Tabitha cast a discreet Detect Evil at the vicinity, but no new results popped up. The axe and Ed himself – but the accessories were devoid of any foul influence.

…who knew? Perhaps good demons existed out there too…? Deep down, the spy slash assassin part of her was frustrated. She could not ascertain this man’s power, and it irked her greatly. The other, the caring part felt relief that Louise had someone who, at the very least, appeared capable of defending her once the time would come to shed the guise of a simple student.

A lose-lose situation. Tabitha could do nothing but curse her luck.

\----

The atmosphere in the carriage emblazoned with the royal Fleur-de-Lis, escorted by a number of dragon riders, was nothing short of tense.

Henrietta would prefer to travel in a far more modest entourage, one that did not scream of opulence and prestige. Yes, she was a Princess, soon-to-be Queen of Tristain, but her visit at the Academy was meant to be a private, personal one. Of course, as it happened, it would coincide with the scheduled visitation by the Royal Messenger. It was by his suggestion that they travel in class and that Tristain knows that their imminent monarch is not a weak, meek woman.

The princess suspected that the reason Count Mott wanted such an entourage was to simply feel more important. Unfortunately, her freshly appointed bodyguard, currently sitting by her side in a set of armor and with a grim expression – amusingly, she was looking at the count with that scowl the entire time – agreed that, for safety reasons, it might be better to have some sort of an escort.

There were understandable reasons behind this caution. Headmaster Osmond’s missive spoke more than enough; a bold attack on the Academy, and by one who had masqueraded herself as his secretary, no less! To make matters worse, both Louise and one of her classmates were harmed by the thief. How could she not worry? While Mott would be assessing the degree of damages sustained to the vault and Academy at large, she would be visiting her dear friend. The plan was for her to come with slightly smaller pomp, but his interference saw that said plan was changed.

“Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?” He spoke, with an air of deference so great it could be nothing else but cynical brown-nosing. At the very least, Henrietta could be sure of his loyalties; status quo suited Mott just fine.

“You needn’t concern yourself with me, Count. I am simply in thought.”

“Truly, there is a lot to process. The breach of Academy’s vault, I fear, may become a matter of more than expenses.” Naturally. The High Council and notable noble families watched her keenly ever since her father, Dear King, shed his mortal coil. They were watching for weakness, for mistakes that could be attributed to her young age, to stress, to simple whimsy of a mere child. Henrietta was painfully aware that this opinion of her among the elite of Tristain would not change soon, assuming it would change at all. For someone like Fouquet to effortlessly breach the Academy grounds, incapacitate Jean Colbert himself – no small feat – break one of the most secure places in all Tristain and hurt two students to a point where one still hasn’t woken up yet…? It was an insult of the highest caliber, questioning not just her capabilities, but her country’s as well.

On a personal level, Henrietta was hurt all the same. “Ah, it looks like we’ll be there soon.” Mott made the ever-so-helpful observation. Indeed, the main entrance to the Academy was just up ahead. “Ah, what in blazes? I didn’t know there was some troupe parading about.”

“A troupe?” The princess looked through the window. By the main entrance, looking deep in thought, stood one man. One man Henrietta already knew, just standing there as if nothing happened, trying the strings of his strange lute. No… this one seemed different. “I do not see anyone else. This might just be a wandering musician.” She finally said, carefully weighing her voice. Her blonde bodyguard took notice of the slight change in the Princess’ tone, shifting ever so slightly to look at her charge. Mott, being as self-assured as always, did not.

Outside, heedless of the grand procession making its way to the Academy, one roadie was prepping an electric guitar.

\---- 

The evening saw a wild selection of events happen in succession.

Siesta tried her best to make herself look as small as possible when Duchess de La Vallière showed up in the corridor and made a slow, steady walk to Louise’s room. She has heard that her mother had a reputation for being stern and unforgiving, requiring constant success. The duchess did not acknowledge her with even a glance. It seemed however that the maid’s fears were at least partially unfounded; Louise’s mother returned from the room with an expression that was toned, but nonetheless showed a faint hint of satisfaction.

From what she had heard, the pinkette received a couple more visitors. Apparently even the Princess herself showed up to inquire about her and Master Gramont’s well-being. She had seen General Gramont visit his son’s room, as well as try and console Miss Montmorency. It seemed words of comfort were not his strongest suit, and they could not work very well if he himself was concerned.

Now that it was the dead of night and no one prowled through the hallways, she did with a single purpose in mind. She had to fix her mistake. While Master Gramont was healing, there was no telling when he would wake up, and that rattled Siesta. What if he would never wake up? No, she had to do something. The maid idly felt at her Ironheade pendant, hidden under her maid dress, cool against her skin. The package under her arm felt lighter than ever; perhaps the reason for that was the purpose she had found.

Quietly, she sneaked into Guiche’s room. No one was there to interrupt what she was about to do. Moving with utmost discretion, the maid pulled up a chair for herself, near the bed of the incapacitated fourth of house Gramont. He would look quite peaceful if not for a look of vague discomfort, as if he was having a bad dream. Siesta smiled, a little nervously. Perhaps her little plan would heal both physical and mental wounds at once…

She unwrapped her bass, caressing it with love and care. The power of a Thunderhog so far had been used for no one else but herself – it was high time to change that. Siesta took a deep breath. She would make things right. “One, two, three…” She muttered to herself, gently tapping the body of the bass to give herself the rhythm before her fingers began moving. This particular melody was always her favorite; her grandfather played it like a lullaby for her and the others. A soothing tune befitting someone of much higher station than herself or perhaps even Master Gramont himself… but Siesta  just couldn’t care for that in any way, smiling to herself.

The music was for everyone, she thought, and right now, it was for him.


	18. Voice of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Guiche might be suffering from unrequited love.

Guiche was trapped. 

It was no use struggling; his whole body was locked in place, arrested in a grip of a titanic creature of earth. It had no teeth to bare at him nor enough malice in its eyes to send a chilling glare, but through its overwhelming power it commanded respect and fear. Young Gramont was its prisoner, and he could do nothing but accept that fact. Every time he tried to defy the beast, it would tighten its grip on his body just a little bit more. 

Trying to look through his tears, he finally spotted a strange figure perched on top of the beast, a malicious gremlin in a baggy coat, laughing at his misfortune. He tried to reason with it, to threaten it, to beg mercy from it, but the little monster might as well have been deaf, pointing its long, bony finger at him and cackling. Such embarrassment, for someone of his station to be captured like this. 

He was ready to accept his impending fate, shoulders slumping dejectedly and tears finally drying out in resignation. It was unmanly to shed tears, but what else was there for him at this point? But then however,  _something_ happened. It began as a faint murmur, like rumbling of a slumbering earth elemental, but much smoother, much calmer, gentler. The gremlin also took notice, and so did the great beast holding him, staring up in the sky. 

Guiche’s eyes turned as wide as saucers, for from above came an angel. 

He couldn’t make out her face – for the body in a white flowing dress was distinctly that of a woman – but her sheer presence froze him on the spot in amazement. The demon goblin sneered and screeched at the angelic figure. She carried something in her hands, something similar to a lute or a zither, but slightly different in shape and tune it produced. And Brimir’s beard, what a tune it was. As Guiche listened, he felt great power reaching him. He was stronger, tougher, his mind was clearer. With newfound might, he started struggling again. The titan who held him squeezed instinctively, though as the blond noticed, it didn’t deign to look at him, expressionless eyes fixed upon the angel. 

And yet, despite its monstrous grip, Guiche felt himself slowly overpowering the mighty beast. Little by little, he pushed back against the earthen hand until it was fully open. There he stood on its arm, staring down the demon goblin. It screeched and tried to escape, but he was faster than that and seized the little monster. Then, driven by some strange instinct, he lifted it up and presented it triumphantly to the angelic being. 

Though he still couldn’t make out her face, he knew she smiled. Soon there was no goblin, but just Guiche and the heavenly creature. She reached out, her gentle fingers caressing his cheeks. Young Gramont’s heart stopped a beat. He, smitten? Surely, this must have been but a pleasant dream… 

\---- 

Back in reality, the blond stirred on the bed, cracking one eye open. It was the dead of night, in what appeared to be an infirmary, but he was the only bedridden here. Vallière must have been resting in another room then, but that didn’t matter.

By his bed sat a woman. At first Guiche thought it’s his dear Monmon, but no, this one was different. She was playing on an instrument, humming gently in tune with its soothing tunes, a lullaby-like melody, her head weaving left and right. She loved the very act of playing this instrument just as much as he loved the sound it produced. His eyes still getting used to the darkness, he made out that she was in a maid’s dress. A commoner servant? But no commoner servant could possibly be this alluring, this… pretty. Her skin shone in the gentle moonlight, giving her an almost ethereal, mystical quality, as if she was an Albionian banshee seeing him to the other side. 

The realization dawned upon him. “…an angel of mine…” He stammered. The music stopped and he cursed himself for startling her. They made eye contact, both burning red from embarrassment. Guiche wanted to say something more, to reach out, to calm her down with a gesture, but his body was still weak. Before he could, the angelic maid excused herself skittishly, leaving him alone in the darkness. 

\---- 

Professor Armand de Puidemont, runic name “The Stream”, knew the extent of his healing magic. As far as he was concerned, he was the finest healer in Tristain and one of the finest in all of civilized Helkeginia (so Germanian louts were unaccounted for). Naturally, he has heard of natural healing of the body, stimulated by the soothing touch of the arcane. Some could even heal on their own, almost as if they had some monster blood in their veins. 

And yet, young Gramont’s recuperation left him lost for words. 

Unlike his brothers or his father, Guiche du Gramont wasn’t particularly fit. His willpower reserves were average, his physicality was just about adequate for a noble’s pampered son; nothing particularly remarkable. At the current rate of healing, he was expected to wake up in three days. Going too fast could cause irreparable damage to his personage, and Tristain’s finest healer would sooner eat his toupee than allow his patient to suffer. And yet… lo and behold, not only he was awake, he was strong enough to sit up and converse! He was oddly melancholic, yes, but otherwise de Puidemont could easily let him leave tomorrow. 

Something just didn’t add up, and it was nagging at the old professor’s mind. Did he make a mistake somewhere along the line? Did he have the nurse apply too much poultices on him? Would Guiche collapse the moment he would leave the bed? “Mister Gramont, I am quite happy to say that you will be able to leave the bed tomorrow.” Nevertheless, it was unbecoming to be so flustered in face of success. He would get to the bottom of things eventually. “However… something is bothering me about your recovery.”

“What do you mean, Professor?” Yes, Guiche was quite scatterbrained today.

“I will not mince words, this is either a miracle or I’m turning senile already. You should not have been awake yet, much less capable of conversation.” The boy smiled slightly. 

“Professor, I… think I’ve simply been enlightened.” 

“What do you mean? Let me check your fever…” Was Gramont hallucinating? But no, his forehead was of adequate temperature.

“Oh no, Professor, I’m feeling quite well. It’s just… I might have seen a holy figure. An angel, if you will. I cannot describe her, but I do remember she had piercing blue eyes.” Oh. A girl. Of course it was a girl. And here de Puidemont was worried that Guiche is coming down with something again. The old professor held himself from uttering an old Gallian swear word and just shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I’ll make sure to write that down in my notes.”

\---- 

Eddie was not having a good day. 

Louise was back on her feet, which was good news. Unfortunately, he was nowhere near to give her a thumbs up. In fact, there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind that told him that now he was the one needing help, and pronto. The reason for that was simple enough. 

It was a woman approaching fifty yet looking no older than thirty something, in an elegant red gown and with bubblegum pink hair not unlike a certain someone. “Louise told me that you are her Familiar, Ed of Germania.” Karin  Désirée de La  Vallière sized him up from across the coffee table, taking a small sip from her tea cup. His was still standing there, full of what was probably a local equivalent of earl grey. Not far enough, to the side of this conversation stood Siesta, prim and proper as befitting a maid serving a Duchess. Eddie could bet she too was sweating buckets right now. Metaphorically, of course.

…why was this couch so uncomfortable all of a sudden? That woman was _something else_. “U-uh, yeah, I guess…” 

“You guess.” 

“I mean, yup, yeah, er, one hundred percent!” Oh lord, it was like he was back in high school again. They had this awful awful biology teacher, Mrs Plum, the kind of lady who could probably turn all your bones into jelly with a single withering glare. Karin here was even worse. 

“Good. Louise had also informed me that it’s thanks to you that she has found her magical ability.” Not trusting his mouth this time, Eddie decided to simply nod. The air shifted ever so slightly, towards a more relaxed atmosphere. “Then I must extend my thanks, Ed of Germania.” Oh. Well, that caught him off-guard.

“Y-you’re welcome, Miss, er, I mean, Madam...” 

“I think you should be welcome as well. If you were to be a fraud, there would not be enough of you to respectfully bury in the earth.” So much for relaxation. Eddie gulped despite himself. Holy shit, he had faced the demon emperor. This lady was so much more terrifying. To the side, Siesta shifted a little in her spot. “However, I am concerned that these practices may bring my daughter to the brink of heresy; somewhere where I cannot possibly protect her. I have heard of your little displays, Ed of Germania.” The Duchess’s glare hardened. “The summoning of a burning airship to annihilate young Gramont’s pride without annihilating him or the onlookers. The summoning of a wheel machine unlike any other, that puts even Germanian engineers to shame with its design. The timely rescue of Viscount of Wardes, Louise’s betrothed, albeit with assistance from Zerbst’s seed.” 

“W-well, Kirche actually helped a lot—“ 

“ _My point being_ ” Note to self, thought Eddie, don’t put your foot in your mouth near the Duchess. “I would like to know just who you are and what you are planning to teach my daughter. If I find something untoward in your explanation, I will be putting an end to this education.” 

“Wait, you can’t—“ 

“That is not for discussion.” It was time to man up and voice his protest. Eddie took a deep breath, a big sip of the tea and then slowly rose from his seat, fixing a stern look at the Duchess. Siesta failed to contain a startled gasp, staring at this blatant show of disrespect. 

“Okay, uh, how do I put this… Louise’s Mom, I’m gonna have to ask you to chill out.” Karin’s eyebrow rose ever so slightly, but she did not show any other reaction to this little display. “You can ask Old Osmond about it, there ain’t nothing wrong with just… using an instrument to cast and…” 

“Sit down.” Suddenly feeling the wind of his sails die – fitting, given he was discussing with a Wind Mage – Eddie just sort of deflated back on the couch. “Maid, leave us.” Siesta nodded nervously, gave the roadie a fumbling thumbs up of encouragement, and excused herself from the brewing storm. “As for you, skald, let me ask you a question. Are you a father or, perhaps, have you any siblings?” 

“U-uh, no to both.”

“I figured as much.” Something in the air shifted again, but this time things were just… sad. The Duchess looked mildly upset. “I have three daughters, and I love them dearly. I realize that to some I may appear as less than caring for their well-being, but… I like to think that this is patently false.” 

“Ed of Germania, if my darling youngest is to be executed as a pagan witch in the future, then I would rather that she wields no magic at all.” Oh. So that was what it was all about? Eddie didn’t think this one through, true. Here he was, thinking that his biggest obstacle was going to be some huge monster or another kind of tin tyrant, and not a concerned mother with logical justification of her worry. Hell, if he knew that such a talk would even be a thing in the future, he’d just blow Quiche’s Valkyries up with a shred of lightning or something, and most definitely not make it a tribute to Gods of Metal. 

Fucking politics. “Alright, fair enough. I’ll tell you the whole thing.” He finally said. Eddie wouldn’t be telling the whole thing, naturally; mentioning stuff like his ancestry would no doubt shut down the whole project right there and then. It was a hard task ahead of him, however: he had to convince the Duchess that the risk was worth it. There was another, even harder lying in wait. 

Telling who Louise was. “Just two things before I start. First, I’d like this talk not to leave this room. What I’ll be saying here is privy to me, Louise, Old Osmond and Professor Colbert.” The Duchess nodded without a word. “Second… it might not be my thing to pry, but the way Louise always talked about it, it sounded like being able to seize her destiny, grab it by the taint and lead it how she pleased was her biggest dream. I don’t know how she’ll take to it running away now that she’d tasted it.” 

“...duly noted. Now, if you please…” 

\---- 

Though still melancholic, Guiche was feeling quite well. 

With a smile that was almost a faithful recreation of his usual lady-killing look, he was honestly just happy to have a company in this confinement of his. His dear Monmon was quite elated to have him come back into consciousness, as was his erstwhile companion Malicorne. His father also showed up to greet him. Greater business called him back to capital, but he stayed long enough to say that he’s proud of Guiche. To the fourth of house Gramont, who wasn’t expected to do great things, outshined by his older brothers, that simple praise brought him much joy. 

He felt like a greater man from that alone. 

“You’ve made quite a startling recovery, apparently.” Montmorency said, for now happy to feed her wonderboy dinner. Malicorne, feeling a little peckish himself, was happy that she no longer took out her frustrations with the situation on him. “Professor Puidemont said that such stalwart spirit is unheard of.” 

“I’m surprised myself.” The blond admitted truthfully. His memory was still fuzzy, and so he equated the angelic savior with his blonde dove. He wasn’t sure why Monmon would ever put on a maid dress or when she had learned to play a lute, but in his mirth he simply figured that she did all these things for him, and felt almost embarrassed that he had nothing of worth to give in return. “Though I think your angelic tunes might have brought me back from the brink.” 

“My tunes?” 

“Quite. Were you not with me that night?” Montmorency blushed at first, but then something struck her as odd. Malicorne explicitly escorted her back to her room after her outburst two days ago, and did so yesterday as well. She wasn’t a sleepwalker, nor considered her skill at singing or playing an instrument to be good enough to be called “angelic”. Maybe it was just Guiche exaggerating, but…

“…no. No, I did not visit at night.” Confusion appeared on young Gramont’s face as he struggled to remember the details. “Guiche, why would another girl visit you at such an unseemly hour here?” The slight edge to Montmorency’s voice alarmed Malicorne that bad things might happen in short order. He hoped that Monmon wouldn’t deign to slap his buddy for something he had only faint recollection of happening, while still being on the infirmary bed, but there was something sketchy going on.

“I… do not remember very well, but…” To Guiche’s credit, he appeared genuinely confused and upset at not recalling the situation, which stayed Monmon’s wrath some. “She had blue eyes. Piercing blue eyes, like sapphires gleaming in jewelry.” She could think of a couple of blue-eyed peers, but none struck her as so audacious as to try something with an unconscious man in the dead of night. For some reason, Tabitha came to her mind. An amusing thought. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling well?” 

“Yes, quite. Professor said that I should be able to leave tomorrow… oh! Now I recall! She had a maid dress.” He said, nodding slowly. Monmon gave him an odd look. Malicorne tensed ever so slightly, prepared to tackle an irate Water Mage out of the way should the need arise. “She held an instrument that produced incredible, soothing sounds. I was surprised at such a sight, I must say.” 

A maid? A  _maid?_ Some maid dared fraternize with her Guiche in the middle of the night? Montmorency had no idea Academy hired commoners so devoid of common sense. The spoon she was feeding Guiche with shook in her hand due to indignation brewing under her skin. Before she could dwell on it any longer however, three more people showed up in the room. 

“Pardon the intrusion~” The Zerbst strumpet, her Gallian gopher and _Zero_. Well, that day went from good to a disaster in a manner of five minutes. Monmon nodded a very stiff greeting. “How is our hero doing?”

“Oh, um… I-I mean, there’s no need for flattery, lovely Zerbst flame.” It seemed Guiche’s way of dealing with being caught off guard was to flirt right way. Slowly, Montmorency rose from her seat. It wasn’t his fault. He was just… like this. That was fine. 

“Please, do not overexert him too much. He’s still weary.” She spoke through gritted teeth before excusing herself out of the room, with the soup still there. Malicorne gave chase after a moment of a blank look. Louise watched them go with a raised eyebrow. 

“Alright, what’s with Monmon _this time_?” 

“Please, give her some space. She’s stressed from her watchful vigil over my humble self.” 

“Guiche’s back to normal.” Tabitha hummed with a faint hint of amusement in her voice. Granted, that might have been due to Kirche taking over the feeding duty, much to young Gramont’s understandable embarrassment. 

“No kidding. So, how are you feeling?” 

“Well, Professor Puidemont said that I made an inexplicably fast recovery.” Being fed by a lovely Miss Zerbst was not the worst punishment out there, Guiche thought; not that it helped his blush at her teasing “Here comes the reiter~” remarks. “I can think of one reason why, though.” 

“Huh. Why’s that?” 

“Well, I had a strange visit in the middle of the night. Truly, I cannot say if it was real or just fantasy, but… it was a maid with piercing blue eyes, playing a beautiful tune on an instrument.” Louise blinked, then froze once the realization where Monmon might have gone to reached her. “Perhaps I simply imagined it, but it felt like her music filled me with incredible, unseen strength and vigor.”

“Brimir’s balls…” 

“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but—“ But then the pinkette was gone in a hurry, just like Montmorency and Malicorne beforehand. Guiche watched her go with a blank look before looking over to Kirche and Tabitha for knowledge, but found no purchase there. 

\---- 

Chevalier Agnes de Milan, Princess Henrietta’s personal bodyguard, considered herself capable enough to react to dangers that could befall her charge. It was her job to make sure not a hair fell off her pretty purple head. 

But what could be done about pink-haired missiles running as if the Elves chased her? The culprit in question was, apparently, the princess’s playmate from the days of cheerful childhood and so Agnes felt just a little awkward staring at downed Miss Vallière after she bounced off her shoulder at high speeds. That girl  _just_ left the infirmary bed; she didn’t need another brain shake in so short an order.

“Oh heavens, Louise, are you alright?!” Naturally, the princess was right by the pinkette, heedless of the stains that could get on her snow-white dress or her station as the imminent monarch. The third of house Vallière replied with an inelegant grunt, still a little out of it as she stared blankly at the early afternoon sky, feeling like it could collapse on her any moment. Running into a larger, armored person had poor results for the runner; who could have thought? “Oh no, oh dear…”

“Should I get a healer?” Agnes offered, growing slightly uncomfortable at the strangely intimate situation. Thankfully, there seemed to be no need for that. Maybe. The pinkette sat up with the princess’s assistance, blinking rapidly as if that would get the shakes out of her head. 

“S-siesta? Wait, no…” Henrietta frowned. She recalled that name belonged to a black-haired maid from the Academy. It seemed to her that Louise was rather fond of that particular servant… but why was she in so great a hurry to find her? “…P-princess?!” Oh, she’s come to. The imminent monarch of Tristain offered a gentle smile. 

“I told you to just call me Anne, Louise Françoise.” She chided gently. The small pink missile blushed up a storm and Agnes couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. A little princess crush? Surely not. “Are you alright? You bumped into Agnes and fell down.” 

“I… I’m f-fine… I think… ah, Princess, um… I-I need to go find Siesta, I m-mean the maid, I…” 

“I don’t think you can walk like that, let alone run. You’re all shaken.” The princess turned to look at her bodyguard. “Agnes, can you please look for her?” 

“Are you certain, Your Highness?” 

‘Quite so. I’ll be fine.” Nodding a little unsurely, Chevalier de Milan took off as ordered, leaving the two on their own. Slowly, Henrietta helped Louise up to her feet and then held her gently so she wouldn’t collapse all wobbly. It might not have been a very princess-y behavior, but she could do that much for her best friend, at least. “There we go. Ah… so much has happened recently, we didn’t even get any chance to catch up. Our talk yesterday was way too short.” 

“Yeah, it was a bit…” Louise took a moment to gather her bearings again, slowly shaking the last bits of dizziness off her head and trying not to think too much about the princess helping her walk, being so close and so good and gentle and that’s enough out of you, young lady. “A bit crowded. And that creepy count was there. What was his name again, Moth?” 

“He’s more like a preening butterfly, really.” Henrietta held back a giggle. “Though now I must ask, why were you looking for this Siesta so urgently?” 

“I think she might have gotten herself in trouble with one of my classmates.” Here was hoping that Henrietta’s bodyguard wouldn’t have to wrestle Monmon down to the ground or something. “And I was planning to stop the trouble before it began.”

“Oh dear. I hope Agnes will be a suitable stand-in for you then, Louise Françoise. Ah, is that Sir Ed over there?” Indeed, that was Eddie seated nearby on a bench, fiddling with what looked a lot like Clementine, but smaller and smoother. Was that the guitar that would replace Kirche’s harp? The pinkette couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of seizing her very own instru-wait. 

“…wait, how do you know him?” Henrietta gave her an honest smile. 

“I suppose I can tell you that. He saved my life a few days ago.” 


	19. Angel Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Henrietta commits to something long-lasting in consequence, and Louise finds it in her to rebel from the hierarchy.

“FAMILIAR!” 

Eddie looked up from his work, searching for where the shrill, indignant cry came from. Lo and behold, it was Louise, stomping over to him like the angriest pack of bubblegum ever known to man. The roadie blinked. He didn’t screw anything up recently. If anything, he managed to convince the Duchess to continue teaching her daughter how to shred a mean guitar. 

But then he spotted a rather worried princess not far behind, and things kind of clicked together. Oh. Snap. “Familiar! I demand you explain yourself this instant!” Louise commanded with a tone that couldn’t possibly tolerate a “no”. Should he try and bluff? No, Henrietta probably told her what happened already; there was no need for her to lie. It’s another thing that she told such a thing to Louise.

…they were close friends, weren’t they? “Uh… what do you mean?” 

“Don’t give me that! You…” She must have realized that touching such a sensitive subject out loud might be too troublesome for everyone involved, taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of her nose before she continued in a quieter tone. “Eddie, you _saved_ Princess Henrietta.” 

“Yeah, it just kinda happened.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Well, she asked me to keep mum about it. I didn’t know you guys know each other.” 

“How can you be so nonchalant about this, anyway?!” Louise raised her voice again, but this time indignation mixed with confusion in there. “You pull a stunt like that and all you can say is “it kinda happened”?!” 

“Well, yeah. I was in the right place at the right time.” Eddie shrugged slightly. “By the way, your mom abducted me for an hour or so.” 

“…pardon?” 

“Yeah, we had a talk about your magic.” Briefly, Louise’s face went pale before it regained color and her brows furrowed in a silent question. “She, uh… I told her the whole thing.” 

“…the whole thing?” The pinkette paled again, and for longer this time. “Not just that you’re from another world, but…” 

“But the other, religious thing too.” The silence afterwards persisted for an uncomfortably long time. Eddie looked over to where Henrietta was, but it seemed that she had no objections to wait until they were finished nor was she listening in on the conversation in question. Bless her royal heart. “Long story short, she told me if something wouldn’t be up to her liking, she’d make me stop teaching you.” 

“…what? She _wouldn’t_. I know my ineptitude at magic hurts her even more than it ever hurt me.” And right now, Louise too looked hurt that Eddie would even suggest such a thing. Ouch. Despite their frosty relationship, he could tell that she considered her mom to be a role model. “How can you say that?” 

“Well, it was about the fact that the stuff that I’m peddling isn’t exactly Brimir magic.” Oh. 

“…but I don’t use your magic. It’s all me, just with an instrument.”

“And that’s what I told her. She’s worried sick for you, girl. Like, she doesn’t want you to burn at a stake or something, and I can get that.” 

“Oh.” Somehow, that little “oh” was more poignant than anything that was said beforehand. “I… I see…” 

“So I convinced her that we’ll just be doing things the proper way. Speaking of… I’ve got a couple of things for you.” 

“For me? Um… is that a zither?” Louise asked with a voice still a little uncertain, gesturing towards the guitar he was fixing. 

“A guitar, but yeah. Made her from a lute, the remains of Kirche’s harp and some other assorted junk. Just wish I had proper materials for this one.” He smiled slightly, fixing one more crank before presenting it to her. “And now she’s yours, metalgirl.” Awkwardly, the pinkette accepted the gift, caressing the guitar with hesitation. This definitely felt different than the harp. You held it differently, for one, but something about its very being was resonating with her. This was no mere placeholder; this was her focus, her wand’s replacement. 

This was her guitar. 

“Got a couple more things for you.” Eddie grinned, presenting two more items. One was a spiked bracelet made of black leather, the kind that you could probably kill someone with. “Gotta let everyone know you’re not gonna put up with their crap.” The other thing was a small pendant. Louise recognized it after a moment of thought as the one that Old Osmond showed to them back then. 

Seeing that she was eyeing the Ironheade sign, the roadie presented it slightly closer, putting the bracelet away for now. “Siesta has the original one, but I figured that you well damn deserve your own. You blew Fouquet’s socks off like a pro.” Louise grumbled a little, taking the pendant from him and examining it. 

“A pro wouldn’t be saved by an uncanny artifact…” Eddie merely shook his head with a chuckle, offering a gentle pat to her shoulder. 

“Don’t sell yourself short. I already told you, it’s thanks to you that Quiche’s still with us.” That got her to smile. Score one for team Ironheade. “Anyway, I know it’s a bit sudden, but… there you have it. These are your markings of a metal girl, girl.” A metal girl, huh? What was she, an Earth Mage trying way too hard to impress someone? 

…that did sound a lot like Guiche, Louise thought with some amusement. Still, she had to give him some credit too. Slowly, she put on the pendant. 

“I’m not wearing the bracelet though. Too ostentatious.” 

“Aw, come on.” The pinkette smiled wryly. 

“Maybe if these were mere studs…” Eddie perked up at that confirmation. “then I could pass it for a simple fashion accessory.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Um, excuse me…” The voice of princess reached them as she approached the two. “Pardon the interruption, but are you really Louise Françoise’s familiar?” 

“That I am. Sorry I didn’t mention anything. Figured it might not be my place to say it.”

“Well, if you are my dear friend’s lifesworn guardian, then I must beseech you to take utmost care of her.” Eddie scratched the back of his head awkwardly, feeling sheepish at the conviction in Henrietta’s tone. “I put my trust in you, Ed of Germania.” 

“Way to pile up the pressure on me.” He laughed awkwardly. Louise slapped his arm with a huff, not that it did much beyond having him raise his eyebrow questioningly. 

“You should be grateful you can get away with such a casual tone with the imminent monarch of Tristain.” 

“Come now, Louise Françoise, it’s alright.” The princess smiled ever so slightly, holding back a giggle when the pinkette grumbled under her breath. “There’s no need to be stuffy.” 

“W-Well, I just thought that you need to be s-shown… proper respect and all…” Eddie took notice that his Master went out of her way to avoid the princess’s gaze. She also blushed ever so slightly. 

“Oh, Louise… you’re just like I’ve always remembered you.” In a startling example of protocol breach, Henrietta offered her friend a hug, much to the pinkette’s surprised squeak. The roadie couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. 

\---- 

Somewhere else, Siesta was having a much harder time. 

It all began when Miss Montmorency accosted her, looking positively furious. The maid didn’t know what she did to deserve such ire nor did she question the blonde to avoid aggravating her even further. Apparently, it had something to do with Master Gramont? Before Siesta could voice her objection, a knightess approached with a stern voice. 

“That is enough. Stand down, and torment not the maid any longer.” 

“ _Excuse me_? Who do you think you are, swordswoman?” The swordswoman in questioned merely frowned and approached without fear. “I asked you a question!” 

“I act on direct orders from Her Grace Henrietta de Tristain.” Siesta blinked, and then paled together with Montmorency. The maid proceeded to pale even further when the student laughed off the messenger’s words. 

“And I am the Queen of Gallia! That maid has committed a grave sin towards me and my beloved, the little witch!” 

“You can see the ring if you disbelieve.” The knightess presented a signet. This time Montmorency went chalk white. The fleur-de-lis – the royal symbol, that no sane criminal would dare replicate without permission, much less what appeared to be an upstart commoner – was there plain as day. “As for your accusations of witchcraft, I shall only say that such words should not be spoken lightly in the future.” 

“…understood.” She finally said, avoiding eye contact.

“Glad we’re in agreement. Now then, you must be Siesta?” The knightess addressed the flustered maid directly.

“Y-yes, Ma’am.” 

“Come along.” And so Siesta went, a little confused about the proceedings and leaving Montmorency behind. 

“U-um… many thanks, Ma’am…” She stammered once they were out of earshot. The knightess waved her off casually.

“Just call me Agnes. Miss Vallière wanted to make sure you’re safe.” Louise? Siesta stared at the swordswoman blankly. “Any reason why you would anger that girl?” Oh, given the affection Miss Montmorency had for Master Gramont, she could think of a few. The cry of “little witch” had Siesta nervous. By the divine law of the Founder, magic was not hers to wield, and yet it was her soothing tunes that helped the blond heartthrob with his recovery. The fact baffled even the school medic, Professor Puidemont. 

“I t-think she thinks that I might be trying to steal Master Gramont for yourself…” Siesta settled on a fairly probable explanation. Agnes’s brow quirked before she let out an amused chortle. 

“Guiche the Bronze is far from a man I’d like to steal.” She laughed flatly, shaking her head. “Commoner or noble, you should have more pride than that.” 

“W-well, I didn’t mean to be understood like that…”

“Doesn’t matter now. Just make sure you do not step on that Montmorency’s foot again.” 

\---- 

“So… you’re crushing on Princess or what?” 

“I’m _what_?” After a soothing walk together with Henrietta, the imminent monarch had to say her goodbyes for now. Agnes joined them about that time, with Siesta in tow. Once Louise and Eddie questioned the maid about what could possibly brought Monmon’s outrage out – and then both decided that Siesta did a good thing, all in all – and she left to her quarters, it was just the two of them again. 

“Crushing. You know, have a crush on?” 

“Do I have a cru-“ Louise’s cheeks flushed, part with embarrassment and part with indignation. “F-familiar, what’s this insinuation?” 

“You are super crushing.”

“I’m not!”

“Aren’t you?” 

“Of c-course not! Preposterous to e-even think that! She’s, I…” Eddie raised an eyebrow, but didn’t rush her. This was the kind of confession that you couldn’t hasten. “…she’s engaged to the Emperor of Germania.” The pinkette’s tone was one of faint disappointment.

“You don’t think he’ll be a good husband?” 

“It’s not about that. It’s a political move. Tristain has always relied on political marriages to maintain relevancy. You’ve seen a map of Helkeginia before.” That he did. This country was sandwiched between Germania and Gallia, both superior in terms of manpower, wealth, and territory. One could argue that Tristain’s mages were cut from a better cloth, but twenty Triangle mages would fall to fifty Line mages all the same. 

“We maintain close ties with Albion, but because of the Reconquista, the royal dynasty cannot offer protection in face of this rebellion.”

“Right. So the only way for Tristain to be kept safe is for Henrietta to marry the Germanian Emperor?” Louise nodded.

“Yes. I’d very much like not to discuss this further. Both me and her have men we are engaged to, either way. I’ve no bad word to say about Jean-Jacques, and you’ve met him yourself.” That he did, although there certainly was something sketchy about the good Viscount. He was not going to push the topic though. It was obvious that Louise did not enjoy it any. “And besides… women cannot love women. That’s inappropriate.”

“Says who?” Oh. So he did keep going after all. He mentally kicked himself for putting his foot in his mouth, but the pinkette did not seem angry. Just… tired and dejected. 

“Says everyone I know.”

\---- 

Count Mott would not visit Henrietta’s sleeping quarters in the Academy without a good reason. 

His ill repute as an unashamed rake aside, he knew his place in the social order. As a mere count, he would not dare impose anything untoward on anyone of a higher station in any way, shape or form. No duels, no bets, not even lucrative offers. That was mostly why the late King of Tristain – and now his daughter – could trust Mott to remain a firm royalist. 

So yes, even when half-awake and wrapped up in a long robe to cover up her nightclothes, Henrietta could tell that the count had something of great importance to say. “A thousand apologies, Your Highness, to wake you up at such a barbarous hour, but…” Mott made a dramatic face for emphasis. “I come bearing grim tidings.” A little behind him, Agnes – also half-awake, in her nightclothes, and having just let the count in - was making a face of strained patience instead. 

“Whatever happened?” 

“I visited young Gramont before planning to retire for the night, to see how his recuperation goes. To assuage you, Your Highness, his state is good, but… that is exactly why I’m visiting.” 

“I… don’t follow, count.” Henrietta resisted an urge to yawn. 

“Professor Puidemont stated that young Gramont’s recovery is unprecedented as far as his capability for such is concerned. I did not feel it earlier due to the fact that multiple mages visited him at a time, but… someone else had left magical residue there.” 

“Young Miss Montmorency, no doubt.” Agnes groused, rubbing the bridge of her nose. The princess tinted red at the crass joke. Mott did not laugh however. No, the count looked quite serious – probably the most serious Henrietta had ever seen him. 

“All forms of magic leave faint traces that, with skill and patience, can be identified. It’s true for Dot fledglings, Square masters or even the arts of elves, Miss de Milan.” 

“So you’re saying that… someone else cast magic on Guiche du Gramont?” The princess suddenly became aware of the gravity of the situation. Whoever they were and regardless of their intent, to magically tamper with another’s body without their consent or qualifications was a grave offense. Agnes’s grumbling disappeared once she, the least knowledgeable on magic theory out of the three, realized the situation. 

“Yes. That’s not all, however.” Mott’s face, somehow, turned even more serious. “I can say with all certainty that this was not Brimiric magic.” 

“…elves…?” Now that was a scary thought: an elf hidden somewhere in the Academy, casting its craft upon unsuspecting students all willy-nilly. 

“No. Something else. Something foreign. Some sort of crude pagan ritual.” It took Agnes a couple of seconds to connect the dots. 

“…son of a whore. The maid.” Both Henrietta and Mott looked at her in surprise, as her own eyes slowly widened. “That Siesta. Montmorency called her a little witch. I thought it’s just an insult, but…” 

“Wait, Agnes, slow down. The Siesta that Louise was looking for?” The princess asked and was met with a terse nod. “But that’s…”

“…did she not used to be completely incapable of magic?” Mott asked, tone growing suspicious. “Miss Vallière, that is.”

“Yes, but she said that a change of focus proved sufficient for that.”

“I… do not think that would be enough. It’s my understanding that Miss Vallière had been unable to cast any spell ever since she could wield a wand.” Henrietta nodded after a pregnant moment of silence, not liking the direction where this was going. “And her newfound magic coincides with the time of summoning of one Ed of Germania, who reportedly dropped a burning airship on Young Gramont’s head, while making a, quote, ‘tribute to the Gods of Metal’.” 

“…I’m sorry?” 

“I regret to say I thought it ridiculous and disregarded as mere spicy gossip.” Mott nodded sheepishly. “But the onlookers said that he used a strange manner of zither, very similar to the one that I saw Miss Vallière acquire recently. She also used a lute prior to that.” 

“…Count Mott, I must ask. Are you suspecting my dear friend and that maid of witchcraft?” The one hard part of being a loyal servant to the crown was honesty. Although the Princess’s tone changed only slightly, the Royal Messenger could tell that the answer was not going to please her. Furthermore, to even suspect a Ducal Family of such incredible offense against the good faith and proper conduct was one way to end up in disgrace – if not under a headsman’s axe.

“I’m afraid so, Your Highness. I must ask that the maid, at least, is apprehended and transported to Tristania to be trialed.” Henrietta closed her eyes, deep in thought. For a moment nobody said a word, both the count and Agnes’s eyes on the princess. 

“Let me sleep on this.” She finally said, sounding much more tired than before. Small wonder: that was one hell of a thing to wake up to. “I think I’ll be able to come to a decision in the morning.” 

“As you say, Your Highness. A thousand apologies for interrupting your sleep.” Mott bowed his head once more before making himself scarce. Now that it was just Henrietta and Agnes in the former’s quarters, the princess flopped onto her bed with a groan, face hidden in her hands. The swordswoman did not say anything, though her brows furrowed in concern. After a moment of hesitation, she approached Henrietta, sitting next to her – albeit at a respectable distance. 

“This cannot be right.” She heard the princess mutter as she curled up in her robe on the bed. Agnes had nothing worth saying on the topic. Mott, for all of his bluster, seemed to be taking the matter with utmost seriousness. Unless he was gravely mistaken, there was a possibility that her charge’s playmate and the maid she seemed so fond of practiced unspeakable rituals under the auspices of this Germanian skald. 

“This can’t be right.” Henrietta repeated, but her voice was quieter and weaker. Agnes bit her lip when she heard the first sniffle. “Louise wouldn’t… that can’t be it…” Matters of magic eluded the young Chevalier, and so she could not offer any explanation, any excuse to clean the pinkette off suspicion. There was nothing she could do, and that alone was making her antsy. 

Awkwardly and hesitantly, she reached out to gently put her hand on Henrietta’s head as a gesture of reassurance. The princess, disregarding social conduct, shuffled up closer and hugged her waist, devolving into pitiful sobbing. They stayed like this until she cried herself to sleep, with her faithful bodyguard keeping watch of her all that time. 

\---- 

Louise never realized just how much she missed her dorm bed. 

Being able to just indulge in its softness – incalculable when compared to the infirmary’s cot – felt oh so satisfactory. Her mood, all in all, was quite great. With her confidence restored, a new focus acquired – now perched up against the drawer – and Guiche coming out okay of the whole Fouquet mess, things were coming up Louise. That her mother was proud of her, that she let Eddie continue educating her… she wasn’t sure if she could count everything good that happened. 

And so, as she sat in front of her mirror, humming to herself as she brushed her hair, she was unaware of tragedy that was about to befall her. 

“Louise!” Eddie all but barged in, spooking her off her stool. “Oh thank god, you’re awake.” Louise was very much awake, having flopped on the floor in a mixture of shock and indignation. 

“F-familiar?! What’s the meaning of this?” 

“It’s Siesta. They took her away to Tristania.” Eddie’s face darkened. “For a witch trial.” 

Almost instantly, Louise was up on her feet, eyes wide before her expression turned furious. In fact, the roadie could say with certainty that he had not yet seen her this angry. If there was any resemblance with her mother, it was their shared ability to look absolutely terrifying under the right circumstances. “ _They what?”_ She near-snarled, the threatening tone somewhat ruined by her ruffled nightgown and the mane of pink hair in disarray. “Who? Who would  _dare_ ?”

Eddie suddenly became suspiciously quiet. “Familiar, Brimir help me, you will tell me or I will beat it out of your hide.” The hand in which she still held her hairbrush was white from the sheer force in which the item was held. 

“Henrietta. She okayed the procedures.” In an instance, all of Louise’s anger was gone, replaced by an unbridled look of betrayal and disbelief. “I tried to pull rank on her men, but… well, she outranked me, ring or no ring.” And then that look was gone, replaced by something even scarier: the same cool look her mother used for interacting with others. 

“…right. Give me… five minutes. I’ll dress myself up post-haste.” She spoke, carefully measuring her voice. 

“…and then what?” 

“And then we’ll go to Tristania and save Siesta from a grisly fate.” She had to believe that all of this was a misunderstanding. Henrietta de Tristain was not the kind to callously send someone off to die. No doubt it was that licentious pigfaced count that influenced her, or perhaps she was misguidedly trying to protect her from harm. 

If not, well… Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière preferred not to think about that.


	20. Fear of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Three J's, where unlikely partnerships are made and Moschee's troupe gets involved in something bigger than themselves.

“Well, this is an unlikely outcome.” 

“Are you honestly surprised, The Hammer?” 

“Well…” Moschee laughed. “Not particularly.” 

The scene before them was a tense would-be standoff that his men have prevented. On one side, the trio he saved from Großesache by the names of Julio, Jenny, and Jamieson. On the other, one of the more recent additions to his merry troupe; a creature from the same world as the J’s. Vaguely humanoid, but with a bizarre horse-like skull for a face and stretched-out proportions, it did not conform to any accepted norms of Helkeginia. It – he – called itself the Warfather. His were the sermons that served the Tainted Coil, a faction of demons who once ruled their world.

And just so it happened, the Ironheade and the Coil could not be any more hostile with each other if they tried to. “Dude, what the hell? That’s a demon, man!” Julio protested, standing in front of his girlfriend who was perched behind, ready to fire upon their enemy. Jamieson seemed a little less sure of what to do with himself, opting to simply put up his dukes and stand near the other two. As for the Warfather, he stood opposite of them, holding a book of demonic wisdom in one hand. Unlike them, he did not appear to be gearing for a fight. 

“Well, this troupe of mine gathers all sorts of strange creatures.” Moschee chuckled, confidently stepping between the commotion. “Suffice to say, he means not ill, and neither any of us.” 

“Says you! I wanna hear it from that freak’s mouth!” For a moment, nobody said anything. Not the redheaded Mage, not his hooded companion, not the entourage in the background, regarding the situation.

“Our war has no meaning in this world. Thus, to continue it here would be pointless.” The Warfather finally spoke in a tone that was just too soothing for Jenny’s liking. “We’re all stranded here, and I have grown to enjoy not having to fight any of your kin.” 

“Yeah, I bet you liked it more when you had us under your boot!” Julio’s righteous anger was somewhat ruined by the fact that Moschee was still standing between him and the demon. Jenny stirred a little, looking uncertain. The Headbanger must have realized that he was the only one shouting. “Come on, dudes, back up me here.” 

“He’s not wrong.” Jamieson replied, folding his arms with a tired sigh. “I don’t like it, but if we want to find Eddie, we’ll need a group to travel in for safety. Besides, I can’t tell how much fuel my ride has.” 

“What does it go on?” Findralvandrel cut into the discussion. 

“Uh… fuel, I guess? Like, oil with some music thrown in…?”

“Then I will see to it, if you will leave it in my care.” The Thunderhog’s face turned impassive for a moment. 

“And I would quite like to hear about that little mission of yours.” Moschee smiled at the trio of J’s. “After all, how can I tell my merry troupe will be able to help you on your journey if I don’t know where we’re headed?” 

“You must be hungry.” It was not the mage nor Findralvandrel speaking these words, but, bizarrely enough, the Warfather. The demon gestured deeper into the camp, where a big pot stood on the fire. An orc with criminally long hair was peering curiously into it. “I’ve prepared something adequate for the troupe. There should be enough for you as well.”

\----

And so, the three J’s got to know Moschee’s merry band. 

As Findralvandrel explained, they were a band of outlaws that, paradoxically, worked within the law of the land. In this country called Germania, the redhead’s men were under the direct orders of the ruler of Germania, Albrecht the Third. Their job was to travel the land and cut down anything considered dangerous to the good peoples of the nation – dangerous beasts, extremists, fanatics, political opposition. The notion, at least in Findralvandrel’s eyes, was deeply amusing.

After all, most of Moschee’s troupe were monsters.

In a thirty something group, humans – or creatures that looked the part – formed only about the half of the whole troupe. Others went by different names. Orcs, ogres, goblins, beastmen… the variety was astounding. Unfamiliar with such beings, the J’s had to try their best not to stare too much. The aforementioned long-haired orc, for example, looked like a massive pig standing on two legs, right down to a very pig-like head, snout and all. The ogre – the troupe’s poet, apparently – seemed covered head to toe in warts. The goblin was slightly smaller than Julio in height, but much more wiry, with sickly green skin and long, knife-like ears… and so on, and so forth. 

Findralvandrel was considered the scariest of them all. “What’s an elf?” Jenny asked at some point as they were gathered for dinner. The Warfather did not lie – his dish was supreme. It felt weird, eating with your enemy, but perhaps it really didn’t matter when they were in a whole another world. Julio even asked for seconds. Perhaps the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach, no matter if romantically or otherwise. 

“That’s Findralvandrel.” Moschee replied nonchalantly. A couple hushed whispers rung out in the crowd of cutthroats. Jamieson looked at this selection of die-hard killers seem afraid with mild confusion. “Take off the hood, will you?”

“Must I? Everyone’s already agitated.” The proclaimed elf grumbled before heeding the request. What lay beyond the cloth hood was… an incredibly handsome man with long blond hair and a cool, green-eyed gaze. He doesn’t seem that different from us, Jenny thought, until a pair of long pointy ears – not unlike the ones the goblin had – got her attention. The hushed whispers erupted into a louder chatter, some of it worried and some of it confrontational. 

“So what’s the big deal?” Julio’s question cut the buzzing of the group at once. For a moment nobody said anything before the Warfather laughed, sounding a little like a neighing horse. 

“Ha, such was my reaction too when I first arrived here.” The Headbanger gave the demon a dirty look, but didn’t say nothing, grumbling under his breath as he went back to his food. “And you owe me a Kaiser, Pantagruel.” 

“Hmmm. ‘twas worth the bet.” The ogre named Pantagruel nodded sagely, rising from his seat at the edge of the group to procure the coin in question. 

“Elves are, as most in Helkeginia will tell you, the spawn of the devil.” Moschee continued with an amused smirk. “A long time ago, the elfkind pushed the ancestors of modern Helkeginians to this landmass and have since kept them in here. To present an elf before a Brimirite would no doubt invite surefire violence.” 

“Brimirite?” Jamieson asked in confusion.

“The followers of Brimirism, yes. That’s the main religion in the so-called Brimiric Countries of Romalia, Gallia, Albion and Tristain.” The redhead nodded, watching Findralvandrel put his hood back on. “Western Germania is largely Brimiric as well. Things are more relaxed here in the east, but an elf is an elf still.” 

“Still don’t get it.” Julio admitted, scratching the back of his head. “Like… they look like you guys, just… with pointy ears.”

“It’s a long grudge spanning centuries, and stoked by the Romalian Church even further.” Findralvandrel explained. “You don’t ask a cockroach why it’s hideous, you simply kill it.” 

“That’s fucked up…” Jenny muttered under her breath. “At least cockroaches don’t talk and look almost exactly like you.” 

“Plus, elves are all capable of magic. Here you only have nobles and an odd witch here and there doing that.” Moschee added, leaning back slightly. “And theirs is so much more capable than Brimiric magic, let me tell you.” 

“So what can be done about it?” 

“Can anything?” The redhead shrugged indifferently. “I try not to think too much about a larger picture. I’m here to clean up Germania of filth, is all, and I’ve got a magnificent troupe to back me up in that.” 

“We normally pose as a circus.” The Warfather allowed himself to take over the explanation. “Most of us are too monstrous for the likes of ordinary people, so we stay a short distance away from wherever we stop at. The ones that aren’t accompany these two as they set out to do their work.” 

“And that’s why Findralvandrel doesn’t take his hood off.” Moschee concluded. “Circus or not, we’d have a whole village worth of angry mob to contend with. And if the word got to Vindobona, well…”

“Vindobona’s a what now?” Julio asked. 

“The capital of Germania. That’s where Albrecht III resides, and that’s from where Schwarzreiters head out to punish the unruly agents of the crown.” The J’s noticed that the troupe all made some gestures when the group was mentioned, as if to ward themselves off from them. 

“But if he’s the one who appointed you in the first place, then—“

“He’s an Emperor. If he so desires, he’ll find another Moschee, the kind that won’t be such a buffoon.” The redhead shrugged, standing up and slowly stretching. “Anyway, that’s about it. Get some sleep, you three, it’ll be a long trek ahead.” 

\---- 

The three J’s were allowed to have a single tent. It was a luxury given that some of the troupe members needed these on their own due to their sizes – like Pantagruel the ogre poet – but Jamieson didn’t consider it a very lucky affair. 

Having to sleep next to a girl you liked and her boyfriend just didn’t feel right, especially when they were feeling mildly amorous. Leave it to a Headbanger to make a Thunderhog queasy. “I’ll go grab some air.” He muttered as he shuffled from under his blanket, working out the kink in his neck. 

“Take care, dude.” Julio replied. Well, at least they were getting along now. Was it because they had a mutual target to unite against? Fucking demons… The night was pleasantly cool, so at least he didn’t have to worry about bundling up in anything. There was an assortment of tents and sleeping bags all over their makeshift camp, surrounded by wagons that carried the troupe and its belongings. The campfire in the middle was small now, still attended by a couple of others. Jamieson spotted the Warfather prod at the fire with a stick. 

Well, he wasn’t going far away. Findralvandrel mentioned before bed that there might have been a breakthrough with his ride, something about “Firestones” to keep it fueled. The Thunderhog appreciated the thought. Keeping well-stocked never seemed to be the issue back in the Brutal Land, not even at the direst of times. Fancy how it all worked. Jamieson’s bass was in the tent, kept in safety. 

For now it was him and a cig in his mouth. He didn’t realize when he walked further away from the camp, keeping its presence in the corner of his eye. The faint glow was still there, so he wouldn’t get lost. Walking like that, it helped clear the mind. Just him, the cig, and that kid watching him from a nearby bu-

Jamieson turned sharply towards the foliage. The child inside made an effort to hide itself, but the damage to its secrecy was already done. “Oi, little dude. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He called softly towards the kid, raising his hands and showing empty palms. The child, predictably, did not come out at just that, but if he was there in the first place, then something grand must have happened. It was Jamieson’s understanding that kids like this one or Burkhart from Großesache were not supposed to prance around in the middle of a forest in the dead of the night. 

“…are you a bad man, mister?” The kid asked uncertainly. Now that his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, Jamieson could see that he held a short stick, likely meant for self-defense. 

“Not that I know of. Whatcha doing here, little dude?” 

“…I ran. I need help.” Oho. Now the getting was good. Jamieson nodded without a word. “I… others and big sister were caught by bandits, a-and they…” 

“Wait, slow down.” The Thunderhog offered a hand. “Come with me. We’ll get more people to help.” The kid hesitated for a moment more before slowly emerging from the bush. His clothes were in a rather sorry state, full of cuts and tears that could only happen from running through the woods blindly. He was a small fellow, kind of skin and bones, running barefoot. Slowly, he took the offered hand. “What’s your name, little dude?” 

“York, mister.” 

“And I’m Jamieson.” The Thunderhog smiled uncertainly at his unlikely partner in conversation. “Is there a lot of you held by these bandits?” 

“S-seventeen a-and big sister. They’re very scary, b-but they’re not like normal bandits…”

“And how many of those?” 

“U-uh, I don’t know…” The camp soon became visible. It seemed the campfire was still going at a slow, steady pace, courtesy of the Warfather still poking it with the stick. Slowly, the demon turned his head towards the approaching child and the Thunderhog leading it. York took a sharp breath. Sensing bad things might happen if he doesn’t intervene, Jamieson put a hand on his mouth. 

“Shush. He’s with me, he’s cool.” He assured. That didn’t work very well, as York started squirming, trying his best to escape from what appeared to be a “from frying pan into fire” situation. “I swear he’s fine.” 

“Bold words from an Ironheade.” The Warfather chuckled, approaching slowly. 

“Dude, you’re not helpi-ow!” York went for the nuclear option and bit his recently-thought savior before trying to escape. “Hey, wait!” But the kid was already gone in the dark of the woods. “Son of a…” 

“What are you doing, bringing strays in here?” 

“Lay off me, demon. He just ran away from bandits and they’re holding his friends hostage or something and…” 

“I don’t see how that’s our problem.” Jamieson felt his blood boil. How dare he? I mean, it was only natural that a demon would be so indifferent to others’ plight, but how dare he? “Think for a moment. Have you not heard of will-o-wisps?”

“…I… haven’t?” 

“Findralvandrel mentioned them earlier. Small ghosts that lead you astray and into danger. Once you perish, they harvest your life essence.” The Thunderhog stared blankly at the demon as he opened his book of forbidden psalms, turning the pages slowly. “And this one seemed the part.” 

“But wouldn’t he just try to lead me further away? Like, he wouldn’t try to get more people at once.” Jamieson pointed out, looking worriedly towards where York had disappeared at. The Warfather did not reply, merely looking that way as well. “If he gets more people, there’s a bigger chance that someone catches on, right?” 

And then a child’s scream pierced through the air and Jamieson already knew where to go. The demon watching him run off would pinch the bridge of his nose if it had any. Instead, the only option was to make sure that dumb Ironheade doesn’t get himself killed and get The Warfather in trouble instead. Thus, he followed suit, stalking silently through the woods after the Thunderhog.

\---- 

Richard Flammock was not having a good time. 

Being a ruthless mercenary was one thing. He’s killed people for paltry sums before. Many of them, in fact. Currently, he and his outfit were being employed by an enigmatic man by the name of Mr. Strauss – apparently an agent of Reconquista in need of their services. They’ve been operating in Albion on both sides of the conflict already, changing their allegiances depending on the soft chime of an albionian pound. 

But it was one thing to fight people who could, at the very least, offer resistance, and it was another to ransack an orphanage and take the entire flock of children with their caretaker hostage. They’ve burned and pillaged villages before, but that was just its own special brand of evil. Unfortunately, their leader was fully on board with Mr. Strauss’s task, the agent of the Reconquista offered plenty of coin. 

And now one of those runts ran off. Thankfully, he and the other two sent after him found him just fine, running blindly through the foliage as if the devils chased him. “Hold still, dammit…” Richard mumbled, trying to keep the kid quiet so he wouldn’t attract attention of someone or something. 

“What a pain in the neck…” Jerry of Londinium grumbled, rolling his shoulders. “Why can’t we just leave him be? It’s not like we have a shortage of them kids in the camp.”   
“Come on, mate, gotta have standards.” Felix Barrymore replied with a shake of his head, currently putting binds on the squirming child. “I don’t need no ghosts of vengeance chasing after me because I got a kid killed.”

“Like we haven’t killed plenty before.” 

“Well, fine, I’ll give you that, but that one had a pitchfork and a pot helmet. He was a threat, alright?” Richard wasn’t particularly convinced of that fact, but he remained silent, only grunting when the kid bit him again. Not the first time, so he was already used to the sharp pain. Better to let him tire himself out so he wouldn’t try to run off again. “This one is just a lost puppy.” 

“Like you haven’t beaten a pup to death as a kid once.” Jerry laughed uproariously. 

“You be quiet too. The last thing we need is some savage to jump us.” Richard chided the biggest of the mercs. 

“Like there’s anyone in this middle of nowhere.” 

“…and stop starting sentences with “like”. Gods above, that’s infuriating.”

“Still don’t get it. Strauss said only the elf bitch is important, so why are we bothering with these kids?” 

“Because that makes her more likely to comply if we keep them alive. Brimir’s balls, do you know nothing of subtlety?” 

“Like I need subtlety.” Jerry of Londinium laughed again, but this time the laugh felt oddly short. Richard looked up from the kid. 

“I told you to stop—“ Only to see his merc peer downed on the floor with a huge bruise on the back of his head and a man holding a thick tree branch behind him. 

And then, before he could reach for his axe, a bolt of dark energies pierced right through his heart, making a mockery of his leather cuirass. Richard Flammock died before his body touched the ground. 

\----

Jerry of Londinium awoke to a peculiar scene. 

He was in the middle of a camp, but it was not the place of their outfit. The fact that he was bound and on his knees also suggested that this was not their place.   
Perhaps more distressingly, he seemed to be the only one here. No sight of either Richard or Felix…? “Oi…” He slurred, straining to see. His face suddenly felt a full brunt of a steel-toed kick as he snapped back with a pained groan, now fully awake. 

“Well, looks like you came to.” Spoke the man in front of him, smirking. He was tall and redhaired, with dark skin and black, sleeveless clothing. “Get this man some water, gentlemen. He’ll need it to talk.”

“Talk? Talk about what?” Jerry of Londinium wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. His purpose in the outfit was to hit the other guy as hard as possible, and not much else. If he could not do that, he was next to useless. “Who the hell are—“

And then his voice stopped cold in his throat as he looked upon the people – monsters – gathered around. An ogre, an orc, a goblin, whatever the hell that skull-faced thing was… some shirtless dwarf, a lady with a huge gun. “Please, don’t be alarmed. We mean no harm.” Moschee the Scoundrel smiled insincerely at this obvious lie, idly kicking off the specks of blood on the tip of his boot. “We’re just a merry band of performers, a grim troupe of Germanian patriots.” 

“Y-yeah?” 

“Indeed. And it very interests me what Albionian mercenaries do in these parts.” Shit. Was this some sort of counter-mercenary force from Germania? Did Germania even have such a force?! But Mr. Strauss said no one could possibly find them in this ass-end of civilization! 

“Where… where are my friends?” 

“Dead.” The redhead admitted with disarming honesty. “And you might just join them if you don’t answer some questions.” 

“Q-questions? I, uh, I’m not very—“

“Dude, I will pummel your ribs into soup!” The bare-chested dwarf exclaimed loudly, glowering at the mercenary. “That ain’t cool! Whatcha chasing that kid for?” Here he gestured to a familiar child cowering behind another man in black standing next to said dwarf.

“Oh, uh…” Jerry of Londinium knew his chances. To divulge secrets of the outfit meant parting ways with it, peacefully or otherwise. There was no way for him to escape that many people, from their own camp. Even if he could free himself and try to have a heroic last stand, they’d probably kill him before he could grab his sword. 

“Well, friend?” The redhead – an obvious ringleader – looked down at the brat with a smile. “What should we ask Mr. Mercenary over here?” Little York didn’t shudder under the curious look, instead steeling himself for commitment. 

“About their camp, Mr. Moschee.”

“Fancy that, I had the same idea too.” York nodded a little uncertainly, electing to hide behind Jamieson again. Jenny looked at him worriedly. The kid must have been going through some ordeal. Moschee had a weakness for theatrics, she noticed, of lording his position over his enemies. According to Findralvandrel, this was still better than an average Mage around these parts. Still made him look sinister and malicious, especially to a child. 

Jerry of Londinium was provided water, and not too gently watered by a long-haired orc. “Now then, Mr. Mercenary…” With a ever so slightly exaggerated gesture, the redheaded ringleader pulled himself a stool and sat in front of him. “Get to talking.”


	21. Sweet True Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Louise defies the authority.

“Does anyone know where Miss Vallière is?” 

The morning class of Professor Puidemont was considered something of a drag among the students. Whether it was due to his dry monotonous tone throughout the whole thing, the boring treatises on magical theory that they’ve had to read, and the general pointlessness of the class itself – for what purpose would a proud Noble have to sit with their nose in the middle of some historical grimoire? Leave such archiving to the commoners – made it one of the more likely classes to be skipped. 

Louise  Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière was one of the most avid students of magical theory. It was not an exaggeration to say that she was the top of her class in that regard, as if to make up for her former ineptitude at practical magic. That she wouldn’t be present was, in Puidemont’s mind, unthinkable of. 

“She left this morning.” Tabitha replied from over her notes. Barring her, Miss Zerbst – currently fast asleep at her spot – and a couple more sleepy students, there wasn’t anyone else present. Puidemont rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had to get the Headmaster to intervene. “To Tristania.” 

“It’s a fresh morning. For what purpose would she go there?” Tabitha knew, naturally, but it was not in her interest to divulge that information to people unrelated to the situation. 

“Don’t know, sir. She and her familiar left. Chef Marteau saw them go in the flame carriage.” Oh yes, the infernal machine that made Germanian steam wagons blush with inadequacy at how loud, ugly and unholy it was. Ed of Germania was apparently able to just summon it at his whim. 

“…Brimir’s beard. You know what? Class is dismissed.” Grumbling under his breath, Puidemont left the classroom. The few students that were inside soon followed suit, leaving only Tabitha and sleeping Kirche in. 

* * *

 

It was Louise’s first time riding in the Deuce.

Had it been any other situation, she’d find the experience positively exhilarating, but it was no time to distract herself with little things. No, Louise was on a warpath. She hated the thought, but it was a grim duty of hers to make sure Siesta came back in one piece. If it meant she would stand against the authority of Tristain crown itself… then so be it. 

“What did the chef want?” She asked as they rode forward in Eddie’s vehicle. She was back in her school uniform and all in all no longer looked like she was about to unleash the wrath of god upon the world, but the roadie still couldn’t help but cast her a worried look. 

“Asked me to save her, on behalf of the whole staff.” The pinkette nodded. It wasn’t something she would concern herself with ordinarily, but it seemed not only her wanted to see Siesta back safe. “Told him that you’ll get her back.” 

“You need to start taking credit for your own accomplishments, man.” Derflinger grumbled from his spot in the car. 

“That’s always how Edward had been.” Lars replied sagely. Eddie could feel he’d nod if he could. “The roadie’s job is to make someone else look good, is that right?”

“Nailed it, dude.” 

“Well, I think that’s dumb.”

“In fact, we could even remake it to fit the Helkeginia standard.” Eddie chuckled. “A familiar’s job is to make their master look good.” That got a chuckle out of Louise too, albeit still somewhat strained by the circumstances. 

“He won’t be disappointed.” She said with a smile that slowly twisted into a more determined frown. “Even if I have to fight with the royal authority for that to happen.” 

“What _is_ your line of defense, girl?” Derf questioned. “Like, Siesta’s a good girl, but she is a commoner and she did use magic that doesn’t conform to Brimiric notions.” Eddie didn’t want to bring that fact up. Unlike Louise, who was simply using the guitar to harness the traditional magic, the maid’s heritage let her control power literally out of this world. “No matter how you slice it, she fits the definition of a witch.” 

“…I’ll think of something. Eddie, do you still have that spiky bracelet?” 

“Hm? Oh yeah, it’s in the bag there.” The roadie gestured behind him, trying not to take his eyes off the road this time, even as Tristania became visible in the distance. “Why?” Louise did not reply, opting to simply fish it out from there and examine it with a determined look, hissing slightly when her finger rested in the wrong spot. She didn’t let it stop her, however, slowly putting it around her arm. It contrasted wildly with her prim-and-proper school uniform – for she had nothing better to put on in so short a time – but it didn’t bother her any. 

“I wonder how that count’s face will look like after I smack him with this.” Louise hummed, examining the bracelet. Eddie snorted, shaking his head. 

* * *

“Your decision was wise, Your Highness.”

It wasn’t the first time Count Mott said it to Henrietta today, and again it didn’t feel very convincing for the imminent monarch of Tristain. At her request, Siesta was provided a prison cell normally used for the misbehaving burgeois. It was all she could do for that poor maid at the moment. Now seated in her private quarters – with Agnes watching her keenly from the other side of the room – she cast another tired look at the Royal Messenger. 

“I realize this is personal to you, but think of it as a trail to overcome. The eyes of Tristain elite are on you, and it’s up to you to show them that you can sort out the problems of your land.” Mott continued, pacing around the room and gesturing with pep. “Though I think that it would have been prudent to apprehend Miss Vallière as well—“

“That’s enough out of you, count.” She cut into his monologue with a tone that would not take no for an answer. Mott, a veteran of courtly subtleties, stopped and turned with a bow. “Please, leave me be for now.”

“As you say.” And then he left, leaving just her and Agnes – who was rather unashamedly direct in how she disliked the Royal Messenger – in the quarters.

“What a tool.” She sneered. 

“He’s not wrong though.” Henrietta sighed, slumping in her chair as she looked up at the ceiling. “If the word goes out, the people will think that I’m covering for a friend. I’ve already heard that the only reason Louise is still attending the Academy is because of the connections with the Crown.”

“I thought the Headmaster has an immaculate repute. At least” Agnes made a vaguely disproving face. “as far as bribes and corruption go.” 

“Like that stops anyone… has the envoy to Romalia been sent?” 

“Yes.”

“Then now we wait for the witch hunters…” Henrietta looked towards the cabinet. The contents were sparse – a number of glasses and fancy flagons, two bottles of wine and one more of something else, a present from the people of Tarbes – but Agnes knew exactly what the princess was looking at. “…pour me that devil’s spit, if you will.” 

“…” The blonde Chevalier made a face before slowly approaching the cabinet. “…are you sure this is wise—“

“It isn’t, but I need a wake-up. Please.” Had it been any other situation, Agnes would insist that drinking something that strong before noon was a poor choice of action for anyone, let alone a young princess with no alcohol tolerance. Given that the arrest of that maid was eating at her quite hard however, an exception was made. Agnes still poured only a tiny bit of the noxious Tarbes mix. The smell alone was making her head spin.

“…Brimir’s balls, just don’t faint.” She grumbled, handing the glass over to Henrietta. The princess sized up the contents, not feeling particularly enthused about them – but the doubt eating at her was making it hard to resist. “…take it in one gulp.” 

“Mm.” That she did, and Agnes still had to almost pick her off the floor as the imminent monarch struggled to breathe, eyes teary from the sheer force of the liquor. The people of Tarbes were a hardy bunch, seemed. At the very least, Henrietta reasoned, the day couldn’t possibly get any worse. 

Naturally, she was wrong. 

* * *

Armand of Tristania was a simple man, of simple likes and dislikes, and a simple duty: to stand by the main gate of the Royal Palace and look imposing doing so.

Naturally, guard duty was not something that any self-respecting noble would do; thus, it was the purpose of specially-chosen commoners – the ones that looked big and burly – to be royal gatekeepers. The royal guard inside the palace was far more trained in dealing with dangers, but as far as their purpose went, they only had to look imposing. Nobody was really fooled by it, but it was a fair job that brought good coin and good renown. 

They weren’t soldiers, but Armand reasoned they would be able to chase away a troublesome interloper, should he not be a noble. Now, a clearly irate noble – with some strange instrument on her back, for some reason – with a huge Germanian bodyguard was another matter. “H-halt, who goes there?” Still, it was a job and he had to, at the very least, put up appearances. The pink lightning didn’t seem very deterred by him, stepping forward without fear – and with raging fire in her eyes. “Milady, please do not approach s-so brazenly...”

“Then let me through.” 

“W-without prior announcement, without the—“

“Listen here, you miserable grunt.” Louise snarled at Armand of Tristania with such viciousness that he shrunk despite himself. “I am Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière, third of House Vallière, daughter of Duchess Karin Désirée de la Vallière, “The Heavy Wind”, and a loyal adherent to Tristain’s rule of law. I _will_ be let through. Obstruct me at your peril.” 

“You’ve heard the lady.” Eddie sighed, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. Poor guy, but perhaps his role as the first to weather Louise’s rage and stress could help with the negotiations with Henrietta. “I, uh, I’m her familiar, by the way. Ed of Germania, nice meeting you.” 

“U-uh...” Armand of Tristania was rather obviously torn between his sacred duty of gatekeeping and fearing the consequences of obstructing a daughter of a duchess. “I-is it fine if I… if I g-go ask the Captain of the—“

“Make it snappy.” And so the proud guard ran for the hills through the gate, ever grateful that the young Duchess bestowed such grace and mercy upon him. “Brimir’s balls...” Now that she didn’t need to posture anymore – and feeling bad for the hapless gatekeeper herself – Louise deflated with a sigh. 

“You went kind of wild there.” Derflinger, currently resting on Eddie’s back together with Lars in an x-shape – with The Separator awkwardly wedged between the two swords – hummed from his spot. “Try not to get that angry at the Princess though...” 

“Oh, I’ve special choice words for her.” She didn’t really have the energy to sound angry, but the bitterness in her tone was unmistakable. 

“Miss Vallière, do be careful not to say something too untoward.” Lars cautioned. “I do not doubt that this Count Mott person will be there to catch you unawares on courtly protocol.”

“And even if he’s leagues below you, he’s still Henrietta’s servant.” Eddie added, rubbing his nose in thought. “It would suck if he tried to get you for disrespecting the crowd, or whatever.” Meanwhile, Armand of Tristania returned, out of breath – and with Agnes for a companion. The blonde knightess sized the (un)expected guests with a critical look, unafraid of Louise’s glower. 

“You’re free to rest earlier today, Armand. Just let the next guardsman know.” She said, not taking her eyes off the entourage. “I have this covered.” 

* * *

“I demand a fair trail.”

Although the noxious Tarbes mix cleared Henrietta’s mind rather fiercely, she still felt as if she was in the middle of a misty night. Whether it was the unexpected exhaustion, the understandable anger on Louise’s part or something else, she preferred not to dwell on. “Siesta is not a witch, and I will fight you over this in the court of law, Your Majesty.” Not even calling her by her name…

“That’s bold of you to assume you’ve any say in the matter.” Naturally, once Count Mott caught wind of Louise’s arrival, he was there immediately to provide aid to the troubled princess. Due to his presence, both Eddie and Agnes were requested to remain outside the room – though furious, there was no fear of Louise doing something truly reckless. “Siesta of Tarbes had been caught red-handed practicing witchcraft.” 

“Says who?” With hands on her hips and a defiant look, the pinkette commanded respect even in something as simple as her school uniform. Henrietta noticed that she was wearing the spiky bracelet Ed made for her. It clashed heavily with the rest of the outfit, but something else about its presence worried the princess. “All you have is speculation, and a testimony of a jealous Montmorency.” 

“To your knowledge, we have found the same traces of magical residue on Siesta herself, as well as her instrument. Besides” Mott smiled thinly. “she already confessed to her misdeeds.” Louise growled with frustration before the gravity of that second sentence hit her.

“...did you people torture her?” Henrietta remained stiff as a statue, though pointedly avoiding the eye contact. The count scoffed. 

“Nonsense. There was no need for barbarous methods.” He said. “We simply said that any attempt at being stubborn will inevitably end poorly for anyone involved with her, including friends and family.” For a moment, there was nothing but pregnant silence in the room as a young duchess and a middle-aged count sized each other up defiantly. Then, to Henrietta’s horror, Louise started chuckling. It was a humorless chuckle, devoid of any mirth. 

“I see… I see.” She said between short, dry chortles. “So you just threatened the people dear to her. That makes it so much better.”

“Your questionable magic aside, there is no telling if her family is not involved with this. We will have to be thorough to make sure the heresy is stamped out.”

“You licentious sham of a man!” Henrietta winced when Louise’s tone went two octaves higher from sheer indignation. “You dare to spout such drivel?! Siesta returned Guiche du Gramont’s health that he lost fighting Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth! _That_ is her crime?! That she healed a man?!” This time it was the count that laughed, and again it was a humorless chuckle that made the princess wish she was anywhere but here.

“Magic is for the nobility to wield. Such is the ancient holy law of the Church of Brimir. To violate it is to be branded a heretic.” He glowered down at Louise, but his eyes shone with imminent triumph. “Siesta of Tarbes is a commoner. What she used the magic for is irrelevant. That she used it at all is what makes her life and soul forfeit.”

“How dare you—“

“ _Furthermore_ , nobles too can be branded heretics if they practice pagan rituals, be they elvenkind’s or other. You think yourself above the law, strutting into the Royal Palace like you own it, threatening the imminent monarch of Tristain with” Mott snorted condescendingly. “court battles… and we’ve still to investigate your own sudden gain in magical aptitude.”

“...Count Mott, that is enough.” Henrietta finally spoke up, although her voice just barely obscured another snarl growing in Louise’s throat. “I do not take kindly to your implications regarding Louise Françoise—“

“Oh, _now_ it matters!” The pinkette snarled anyway, but this time her rage went straight for Henrietta, staring at her with eyes wide open now that they’ve finally made the eye contact. “You drag away an innocent girl to be put to the stake, but when I’m suspected of the same crime, suddenly there’s no criminal intent and no heresy! That is an insult to my integrity and to your subjects!” 

“Louise, please—“ 

“Trial me and her, or trial neither of us.” 

“Unfortunately for your inelegant sputtering, the Romalian officials are already on their way here to Tristania.” Mott cut into the discussion, not hiding his smug satisfaction at all. “Whether you receive special privileges or not from Her Grace matters not before the majesty of the Church itself. Are you planning to court with them too?”

“If I must.” 

“This is ridiculous! The maid fits all definitions of a witch, and there is no going around it!” 

Outside the chambers, Eddie and Agnes exchanged worried looks. It seemed the arguing wasn’t nowhere near over. 

* * *

The Deuce rode out of Tristania some time after noon. 

After a long, grueling battle, Louise was given what she wanted: a fair trial that would determine Siesta’s innocence. It took a lot of screaming, a lot of arguing, and a lot of stress, but they’ve finally came to a strenuous conclusion. Unfortunately, they could not see Siesta herself. The least Henrietta could do is to offer her word that the maid is not mistreated in any way, shape or form. Louise remained unconvinced, but this battle could not be won after barely grabbing the victory in the last one. 

That wasn’t the end of their worries, however. The base foundation of the trial would be provided by the Crown and by the Romalian officials, but it was up to Louise to find someone representing Siesta in the court of law. Curiously for Eddie, it seemed the pinkette wasn’t worried about that particular detail. It probably had something to do with how they were riding to her home – with her providing him the directions – and not back to the Academy.

“Eleanor is a person of sharp wit and quick thinking. If there’s anyone I can trust to defend Siesta, it would be her.” Louise said, describing one of her older sisters. Apparently they were like fire and ice in personalities and looks both. “I just hope she won’t bother me about the usuals...” 

“Uh, the usuals?” 

“I… guess she’s kind of a bully to me.” The pinkette shrugged. “Calling me “Crybaby Louise” and “Little Louise”, picking on me for my ineptitude at magic… she was the one that pushed the idea of me being married to Jean-Jacques, actually.” 

“...you sure you want to leave Siesta to her? She sounds like a bitch.” The roadie commented with a frown, and was met with an indifferent shrug. 

“Well, I’ve no more reasons to give her to keep picking on me.” Louise hummed, idly looking back to where her guitar was, kept safe by Lars and Derflinger. Her wand was still on her person, but at this point she was just wearing it out of habit. “She loves me, it’s just… I think she has a weird way of expressing it.”

“No kidding.” Derf snorted from the back. “She must be a real treat to her husband too.” 

“Oh no, she’s unmarried. She scared away all the suitors. I don’t think she wants to marry, honestly.” 

“Oh, but when it’s you, it’s okay?” Louise blushed in embarrassment, looking down nervously. 

“W-well, I _was_ kind of an embarrassment in the family… s-still am, when I think about it, picking a fight with the crown.”

“Hey, don’t even think like that. We’re trying to save Siesta here. Gotta disrespect the authority a little.”

“That being said, it is fortunate that you know the Princess personally. If not for that, you might have been turned down immediately.” Lars added his own three Écu to the discussion. Louise’s face turned sour. 

“Turns out, I didn’t know her all that well...” Eddie sighed, slowing the Deuce down some before reaching over to offer a gentle shoulder pat. 

“Hey, Louise? I think this whole business eats at Henrietta too.” The pinkette made an unidentified noise, but didn’t interrupt him. “Like, I’m no king or anyone in power, but sometimes you have to do shitty things and think they’re good ones. If not for the Church business, I bet she’d let her go no problem.” 

“I wonder. Mott wouldn’t rat her out to anyone should she decide to just ignore it. He likes his spot in the court.”

“But what about all those other assholes watching over her?” Touche, Louise thought. The High Council, like a flock of buzzards, watched for the slightest sight of weakness. To ignore a prospective witch, let alone two, would stoke the fire calling for a new monarch – preferably someone from said council. The word might have gone out by other means, anyway. Thus, Henrietta de Tristain would be relegated to Albrecht III’s trophy wife. 

By all means, Louise was still angry with her friend, but some measure of understanding shone upon the situation and curbed her rage somewhat. “You were a king too, right, Lars? What was it like?” She asked, searching for another topic. 

“Well, my reign was short and spent on warfare entirely...” The sword glowed faintly. “I cannot say I was a king so much as a general – and even then, most planning was done by Eddie.” 

“Come on, dude, don’t sell yourself short.” The roadie chuckled, watching what was likely the Vallière mansion growing in the eyes. He couldn’t help but whistle appreciatively – it made Wardes’s place look like a run-down bungalow. “Only you could get the people to actually follow us. I just helped with the logistics.”

“Well, wars are won with those.” Derf pointed out. “No matter how charismatic a guy is, there’s only so much your raw animal magnetism can do to a campaign.” 

“Exactly my point. Edward’s contribution is what allowed the Ironheade come about in the first place.” 

“Well, Lita and Ophelia are running the show pretty smoothly. Think you’d do well too.” Eddie shrugged. Louise smiled faintly. For all his bombast, his familiar really was a humble man. “I’m just a roadie...” 

“And it’s the second best thing to a manticore.” The pinkette cut in, paraphrasing Eddie himself with a grin. He caught on, and chuckled, gently mock-punching her arm. 

“Got me there.” 

The brief moment of levity was nice, Louise thought, but now it was time to put on the game face. Her next battle was not just with the Crown, but also with Romalian authority. Before she summoned Eddie, she couldn’t imagine herself opposing either of these, let alone both at the same time. Though Siesta fitted Mott’s definition of a witch, she had to find some outing that would allow her to rescue her from the pyre. 

And to that end, she had to ask her family’s aid. 


	22. Heart of Steel

Éléonore Albertine le Blanc de la Blois de la Vallière’s thin eyebrow rose ever so slightly. “…I see.” 

Her youngest sister, Louise, has always been regarded as something of a prodigal daughter among the household, family members and staff alike (with an exception of Cattleya, Founder bless her innocent soul). Due to her magical ineptitude, House Vallière received no small share of ridicule among fellow nobles far and wide, especially considering that the Duchess herself was one of the most accomplished Wind Mages in modern history, let alone in Tristain. 

To hear that Louise had finally found her magic – and from Mother, no less – left Éléonore with conflicted feelings. On one hand, she was furious that her careful preparation of her sister’s future life was now worthless. She wasn’t the type to sit down and be a good housewife, just like Éléonore herself. While one was dedicated to her research of magical history, the other wanted to put herself in the harm’s way for Tristain and Henrietta (perhaps not even in that order). The blonde didn’t doubt that the Viscount of Wardes would take the matter well. And who knew, maybe the two would get together in the end, once the tempting song of adventure had finally left Louise’s head?

But on the other hand she was grateful to hear the good news. What Mother described was unusual – apparently Louise was now using an instrument as a focus – but if it worked, it worked.  _I can’t pinch her cheek in good faith anymore_ , she thought fondly. With that matter more or less closed, the last thing she expected was for Louise to come back home, asking for help. 

But what help it was. “Let me get this straight: you want me to be the defender of that maid in the coming trail?” She asked, just to confirm that this wasn’t just a weird, vivid dream. The brute of a man – Louise’s familiar, apparently, but well-behaved for a Germanian skald – standing behind the couches where they were cleared his throat. “Trial of witchcraft, against Romalian authority?” 

“Her name’s Siesta, by the way.” Well, maybe not as well-behaved as Éléonore first assumed. The two sisters shot him a look. “Just saying.” 

“Yes.” Louise confirmed with a nod once she was done reprimanding her Familiar with a glare. “I realize this is a lot to ask of you, sister, but you are the only person I can turn to.” 

“A lot, she says. Little Louise, if Romalian prosecutors are involved we might as well not bother.” Eddie frowned. Again with the “little Louise” thing. Éléonore took her time to continue, taking a sip of her tea. It seemed all Vallières liked it black. “Cutting all ties with her is the best course of action.” 

“I _don’t_ want to do that.” Pinkette looked aghast that her sister would consider such a callous solution. “Siesta’s my friend, and she’s being wrongfully accused.” 

“Is she now? We’ve confirmed that she uses non-Brimiric magic; according to your Familiar, it’s from eastern fringes of Germania.” Louise and Eddie both decided that “magic from another world” might have been a little harder to sell. “What else is missing?”

“Malicious intent! All she did was heal Guiche!” 

“We don’t know that. And, as I understand, there was no _need_ to heal him.” Louise blinked. “Professor Puidemont corresponded with me earlier, asking for my opinion on the matter. According to him, Guiche would simply wake up a few days later.” In all her righteous fury, the pinkette didn’t take that one detail into consideration. That certainly did make Siesta’s case more difficult. As her face paled, Éléonore sighed and idly adjusted her glasses. “I am sorry, Louise, but there’s nothing I can do.” 

“That sounds like a quitter’s talk.” Eddie’s voice brought their attention to him, the roadie frowning and pointing his finger right at the older sister. Louise only had a moment to realize what he’s unleashing before the blonde rose from her seat. She was bristling. 

“ _Excuse me?”_

“Innit? Been told you’re competitive and don’t give up easily, but I guess that was just hot air.” 

“How dare you… who do you think you’re talking to, you Germanian boor?!” 

“I bet you a hundred shinies that there’s some loophole in the law codices. There’s always a loophole, that’s how lawyers pull their stunts.” Louise blinked again. Was he planning to play on her ego to get her to defend Siesta somehow? If the loophole thing was true, then maybe… “And even if there weren’t, I’ve been told that Noble’s Code is big about protecting the small guy.” 

“What you don’t know is that this is a suicide! A wash! To oppose the Church brings swift death upon commoners and nobles alike. Once they’re done with that maid, they’ll get to Louise. She’s innocent of witchcraft, I’m sure of it, but her reputation – our reputation – will be tarnished forever.” 

“Her name is Siesta, sister.” Louise spoke up, rising from her seat. Her face was a mixture of emotions, and hardly any positive ones. “And if I am to prioritize my name over the life of another, then I’d rather hang up my mantle and snap my wand in two. Come on, Familiar. We’re leaving.” 

“You foolish girl. What are you intending to do, fight the Church by yourself?”

“If I have to.” Louise gestured at Eddie, step stiff as she made her way towards the door. The roadie frowned, but said nothing, following after her—

“ _Alright, Brimir’s balls, alright!_ ” Éléonore’s exasperated call stopped them in their tracks. The pinkette turned around to see her elder sister looking obviously conflicted over the matter. “...fine. Stubborn like a mule, I swear to god…”

“...you’ll help us?” The way Louise sounded, she genuinely didn’t expect to get it. Her eyes too went wide as saucers. Éléonore adjusted her glasses and frowned. 

“Since you’re so eager to go through that hell, you’ll need a proper adult to walk you through it.” Here she gave Eddie a long look. The roadie couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “But I expect your full contribution. If you do not perform up to par, no defense for your ma-for Siesta.” 

“Y-yes! Yes, I’ll do my best!” The pink blur near-crashed into her elder sister, looking downright elated as she hugged her. “Thank you, thank you so much, Éléonore!” The blonde hesitated, a faint blush on her cheeks, before finally returning the hug with one arm. Eddie grinned, and then grinned even wider when she gave him a glare that could kill a dragon twice over. 

“Think nothing of it. It’s just my duty as an older sister to take care of a stupid younger sibling.” She grumbled quietly, clearly not very used to handing out genuine compliments, but Louise could hardly care about that now. “And it would be a shame to not examine non-Brimiric magic from an academical standpoint...” 

“Dude, just say you’re happy to help.” 

“I’ll flay you next time you call me a “dude”, Germanian!” 

\---- 

Louise was instructed to grab a notebook, a couple of quills and ink bottles, a spare change of clothes for the night, and any book on Brimiric law she could find. At six in the afternoon sharp, she and Eddie were meant to come back to the Vallière mansion and begin the investigation together with her oldest sister. Apparently they’ve missed the second one, but according to Louise she was of ill condition and usually didn’t leave very much. 

“I do hope I’ll be able to see sister Cattleya before we go back to Tristania for the trial.” The pinkette, currently carrying a stack of law codices, was back in a peppy mood. Well, as peppy as she could be, given the circumstances, but she was no longer looking like her mom in a bad mood. “Think you’d like her, you three.” 

“I’ll hold your word for that.” Derflinger quipped. “Sure happy we didn’t bump into your iron mom though.” Louise flushed in embarrassment. 

“W-well, she’s taking care of some business in Germania at the moment. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to parley with her like I did with Éléonore though, so it’s something to be happy about.” 

“This amount of codices should suffice, right?” Lars asked. 

“I sure hope so. One more, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be disarmed.” Eddie chuckled at the pun. 

“Well, we should be able to take just about everything with us.” The Deuce was standing in the open, ready to transport them back to the mansion. There was a couple of onlookers examining it with hushed whispers, but no one was dumb enough to tamper with it. There was also Jean Colbert, marveling at the sight of legends before him. 

“I knew that Germanian technology is advanced, but this is something else...” He muttered, tapping at the engine with his finger. 

“Careful with that, dude. Don’t want it to blow up in your face.” The professor jolted and turned to see Ed of Germania and Miss Vallière; the former carried two odd swords – on top of his usual assortment of items – and the latter a number of thick grimoires, apparently about… Brimiric Law? 

“Ah, apologies. I couldn’t help but ponder about the machine. The Deuce, you said it’s called?” 

“Or Druid Plow, if you’re feeling poetic.” Louise shot Eddie an annoyed look. There was absolutely nothing poetic about that name. Colbert merely raised an eyebrow in a question. “Anyway, yeah, this is running on oil. Shit’s flammable, just so you know.” 

“Oh. Well, that would make for an embarrassing demise then.” The professor laughed, adjusting his glasses. “If you don’t mind, can we discuss it over at a later time? I see you’re busy at a moment. Will I see you tomorrow in class, Miss Vallière?” The pinkette flushed in embarrassment. Her attendance had been spotless for two years now, but the circumstances forced her hand to give up the dream of a model student this time. 

“I’m sorry, professor, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it...”

“This is about Siesta, isn’t it?” Louise made a face, the grip on the bottom grimoire tightening. “I’ll take that as a yes. Am I correct in assuming that she too possesses the power like Mr. Riggs?” 

“...something like that.” The roadie agreed, putting the swords and the books in the Deuce. Louise, still stumped, just stood there, avoiding eye contact with Colbert. “Uh, don’t go telling on us if you can, dude.” 

“I wouldn’t think of it. I and Old Osmond can vouch for her if need to.” 

“...oh.” The pinkette blinked, surprised at the straightforward desire to help. “I mean, I don’t want to trouble a-anyone...” 

“I am certain Siesta meant no harm to Young Mr. Gramont. The problem is in presenting that fact to the prosecution.” Colbert tapped his chin in thought. “I can see you are going to put your heart into defending her, but I can’t offer much more than an honest testimony. The Academy is supposed to be neutral.” 

“Thank you all the same, professor.” Louise nodded, face serious. “I’ll do my best-no, I’ll save her from the stake.” 

“I know you will.” 

\---- 

“...hey, Louise?”

“What is it?” 

“What if we can’t save her in court?” 

“...can you summon another flaming airship?” 

“...wait, are you serious—“

“Founder no… I hope I’m not.” 

\---- 

Thus began a grueling gauntlet of gathering legal knowledge. Éléonore wasn’t joking when she said she would expect full capability; one hour into the studying of codices, Louise was already feeling sore. Eddie had to participate too, much to his grumbling (“I ain’t no lawyer, dude!”), but the joint effort was beginning to pay off. Finding the proper definition of a “witch”, as once decided by one of Brimir’s students, was easy enough: a woman of any age practicing pagan magic and characterized with vicious intent. A number of exceptions was presented as well; chiefly women that weren’t human. 

What constituted “pagan magic” was a little harder to find. Blanching at the brainshaking taste of coffee – black tea was fine, but how could her sister take such an infernal roast without anything to soften it?! - Louise perused the codices with a grim frown of determination. Eventually, as stated by Cardinal Agricola of distant past, they’ve come to understand “pagan magic” as “non-Brimiric, non-elf magic, usually practiced by the Germanian folk”. While her heart sank at that, the description was vague enough that something more had to be said on it later on. This time it was Eddie pointing out that “some Salvini dude – sounds like someone you’d punch right on the spot” elaborated on the definition. 

“Pagan magic includes the production of unlicensed potions, charms and the making of rituals.” Nothing about playing a guitar to heal wounds. Louise didn’t like it, but they had to play to the exact words of the esteemed cardinals and prophets. The unnamed student of Brimir even said that a vicious intent was needed, and what could possibly be vicious about healing another person?

Éléonore found her fast asleep by the desk, with the wide-open grimoire making for a makeshift pillow. A brief examination revealed a number of notes nearby that ended with an optimistic observation of “I can save her”. The blonde smiled despite herself. Louise worked herself to the bone to find something to rescue this maid that was so dear to her, and it seemed she had finally found the answers she was looking for. She was working so hard, she didn’t even spend any real time with Cattleya. The middle child of the Vallière family, naturally, held no grief over it. She helped her get Louise to bed and soon had to excuse herself, not in the best of conditions herself. 

Éléonore didn’t stop her research yet, moving outside into the cold chill of the night with a candle, a thick blanket, and more coffee. There, she found the Germanian talking to his swords…? “What are you doing?” She asked despite her better judgment. Ed of Germania jolted a little, looking at her dumbfounded before shaking off his stupor with an awkward laugh. 

“We’ve been found, partner.” The voice didn’t belong to him, but to the ordinary-looking blade on his left. 

“That’s quite unfortunate.” The one on the right, with a note tab of all things on its entire length, glowed with faint light. 

“This is it. I’ve finally snapped and lost my mind.” The blonde shook her head and sat down at the stairs, putting the assorted materials nearby. Eddie looked at both Lars and Derf with an unsure look before sighing. “Well, as long as you don’t bother me, feel free to talk about whatever.” 

“Actually, we’ve been trying to think of a Plan B.” Now that was a suspicious term. Éléonore cast them a long look. “Like… sorry, I guess that’s kind of a shitty thing to say after we’ve spent so long trying to get you to help, but we’re preparing in case… well, things don’t go well in court.” 

“...ah. That kind of Plan B.” The blonde rubbed the bridge of her nose before lighting the candle with her wand and opening the grimoire, only her hands – in gloves, Eddie noticed – and head visible now from under the thick blanket. “Louise told me you’ve met Mother already. Let me perfectly clear: if a hair falls off her head, I’ll be there to smear your remains over the walls once Mother’s done with you.” 

“Duly noted.” For a moment, there was nothing but awkward silence interrupted with a soft whisper of turned pages and brief sips of coffee blackest than the darkest night. “...and, uh… thanks. I know we’re asking you a lot, but—“

“There’s nothing to thank me for yet. My little sister, an ardent Brimirite and a loyal servant of the Crown, is about to stand against both Henrietta and the Church, at the same time.” Éléonore looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful starry night. Eddie couldn’t make out any familiar constellations, but he could recognize a general shape of a sword, a book, and a pendant adorned with the Grand Flash Star. “I’m terrified out of my wits, Germanian.” 

“I guess you would be. Honestly though, I still can’t believe you’re with us. Louise said that you pick on her a lot.” 

“Never in ill will.” The blonde shook her head fervently, giving him a long look. “Her circumstances were different than any other I’ve ever met, and so I arranged the best fate I could to a Noble with no magic to her name… but now that she’s capable, it feels frustrating, as if all I’ve done was for no purpose.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re… not as bad as I thought you are.” Another Kirche situation, huh? Éléonore was probably the redhead’s polar opposite though. She looked at him, unimpressed.

“Your praise is astounding.” She grumbled flatly. “...but thank you. And besides, even if she were to stray from the right path at some point… she’s still my sister. It would be unbecoming of me to reject her.”

“Even if they brand her a heretic?” Éléonore nodded without a second thought. Eddie had to admit, he expected her to hesitate for at least a moment. It wasn’t like Louise was exaggerating about the bullying, he didn’t think – but to see that her sisters have her back was heartwarming. 

“I just don’t know if any of us can protect her if she becomes one...” There was still a matter of the whole Void Mage business, but the roadie figured they would get to that once things calmed down. “Anyway, I’ve arranged for Viscount of Wardes to pick Louise up in the morning. That machine of yours doesn’t seem well-suited for more than two people.” 

“Yeah, that works.” His Kirche-instilled worries about the viscount aside. “We’ll probably have to get to Tristania faster anyway, so we can set up the stage.” Éléonore raised an eyebrow. 

“Are you saying that hunk of junk can outpace the fastest griffon in Tristain?” Eddie smirked despite himself. 

“It once did already.” 

\---- 

Louise woke up with a crushing headache. Or rather, everythingache. 

Being up way earlier than she was supposed to, she spent the first fifteen minutes of her day bumping into furniture and trying to find the restroom through half-lidded eyes. All of her muscles pulsing with pain, only slightly dulled by the soft confines of her bed, she nonetheless forced herself to get to the bath. After fighting off a deep desire to sleep in the tub twice over and with her body relaxing from the soothing caress of hot water, her consciousness was finally coming back to her.

Today was the day she was saving Siesta. 

One coffee later, it was only a matter of picking up the right clothing. It was fortunate that her wardrobe was fully equipped. The school uniform wouldn’t do – only the mantle would remain on her back. Otherwise, it was time to dress to impress, and to make a statement. She was not walking out of the court hall until her friend was freed. Looking down at the rest of her brain roast in the mug, a thought crossed her mind. “Black”. 

Eddie, having slept on a much less comfortable couch and having slept much less, didn’t initially believe what he was seeing. There was his Master and an aspiring Ironheade, sitting pretty with a huge law codex on her lap, clad in a knee-length black dress with puffy shoulders  and long heeled boots underneath. The iron pendant was resting safely on her chest as she looked up at the roadie, revealing a tasteful dash of make-up accentuating her features to give off a more regal, mature look. 

“...holy shit.” 

“Good day to you too.” Louise smiled wryly. “You’re looking like death warmed over.” In his stupor at the surprising change in look, Eddie did kind of forget about everything, sore shoulders included. 

“That couch’s suited for people twice as small as me.” He grumbled once he shook off the shock, rolling his neck with a grunt. “And you’re looking kickass.”

“That’s one way of putting it. I figured I need to be somewhat more imposing in appearance than the usual.” Even if it was Éléonore who was going to be leading the defense, he had a feeling that eyes would set on Louise as the other “witch” of the bunch. “I just need to figure where to put the bracelet.” Indeed, the spiky accessory was lying beside her. 

“Well, if you wanna wear it—“

“I’m _so_ wearing it.” Something in her expression shifted to absolute certainty. “This is to make a statement, not just to the prosecution, but to Henrietta. Whether we make up remains to be seen, but I won’t quietly accept her authority this time.” 

“If you’re sure about it. Anyway, you’ve heard that Wardes’s gonna pick you up?” 

“Oh. I was hoping to go with you, actually...” 

“Sorry. Me and your sister need to set up earlier. You can then get in the hall and silence everyone with the meanest face you can think of.” Louise giggled. Eddie’s face suggested he had something else to say, however, and so her expression turned serious. “So, uh…” He sighed, shook his head and presented his fist. “One for good luck.” 

“One for success.” The pinkette brought her much smaller and more delicate fist over, and so they bumped lightly together. “...Eddie, if… if we have to go the way of the last resort...” 

“I’ll be right behind you, kiddo. If we’re going out, we’re going out in a blaze of glory.” 

“Haha… this is embarrassing...” Louise felt her eyes water slightly. Not wanting to mess up her make-up and not to look weak so soon before the decisive moment, she took a moment to wipe them off. “Thank you. For everything.” 

“Germanian! We’re leaving!” Éléonore’s voice called out from the hallway. Eddie pulled his fist back, and then his hand shaped into a gesture Louise didn’t recognize, with the pointer and the pinky extended. 

“Metal be with you, Master.” Before the elder sister could call out again, the roadie made his way to the hallway, saluting Louise one last time on his way out. The pinkette was silent for a moment before opening her hand and trying to recreate the gesture. Somehow, despite never having done it, the fingers just put themselves in the right position no problem. She smiled. Something about that gesture felt _right_. It was the gesture of indomitable power, of days bygone, of the brilliant future. 

...Eddie never told her where to put the bracelet, she realized sheepishly. 


	23. Lateralus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the court battle begins, and the monstrous face of the accuser is revealed.

This was actually Éléonore’s first time in Tristania’s grand court hall. 

There was a lot to be nervous about in here. The building was ancient, having been erected long before the kings of old made this city Tristain’s capital. To her understanding, this old mansion used to be one of Tristanian rulers’s summer house, standing surrounded by few little buildings. It was then bought out by a prominent marquis as the Crown moved to the Royal Castle. As Tristania grew and became a city to rival Londinium or Vindobona, said marquis chose to relinquish the castle to the public use, as the surroundings became just a bit too loud for his liking. It thus stood mostly unused, reserved for big occasions and normally being a simple marketplace for the wealthiest merchants to present their wares in.

To  Éléonore’s knowledge, this place had nothing to do with a court of law. It was, however, grand and imposing, perfect for a climactic showdown. No doubt it was her opponent who chose it: as a Romalian official, he had this power, and she wouldn’t accuse Henrietta of being this pompous. “This place is something alright.” Ed of Germania seemed enamored with the place, which too checked out. Germanians liked big, impractical things. 

...why on earth was he carrying both the swords and the axe? The blonde recalled her brief encounter with the talking blades. She chose to attribute that event to simple stress and exhaustion, but perhaps…? “The echo carries well, if nothing else.” She said, examining the dusty desks brought here earlier with a critical look. “I won’t have to use the voice enhancer.”

“Neat. So, what should I do next?” He’s been helping the workers with “setting the stage” ever since they got here. The skald seemed calm, relaxed even, but she could tell he was getting anxious, trying to find something to occupy himself with. He and Louise no doubt knew each other well, being a Familiar and a Master.

“For now that’s everything. You can pray that I don’t have to summon you to the witness stand.” Éléonore grunted. The Germanian made a face. “...and try not to flap your gums once prosecution shows up.” 

“Why, that is an awfully suspicious statement to make.” The blonde cursed under her breath: the prosecution was already there. Approaching them were two people: one young man of medium height and gray hair put together in a long ponytail. She could already tell she would hate the man: his eyes were that of a snake. Even the cassock on his person did little to make him look less shifty. He was accompanied by a woman slightly shorter than he, of pale countenance and military wear. She wore no discernible expression and her red eyes did not shine. A bodyguard, most likely, although much more worryingly, Éléonore did not spot any weapon on her person, not even a wand or a pocket knife. 

“You must be my opponent in court.” The prosecutor smiled and offered a handshake. “Antonio Valencia, a humble priest and a student of laws. It’s a pleasure.” 

“Éléonore Albertine le Blanc de la Blois de la Vallière.” Reluctantly, she returned the handshake. Eddie still couldn’t believe that she or Louise could say their full names with a straight face like that. 

“Ah, House Vallière. Ardent knights of Tristanian Crown, fervent worshipers of Founder Brimir… now defending a witch.” Valencia’s smile widened. The roadie took a deep breath. He was cautioned not to talk too much, but here he would have to hold himself from actually punching the guy. And yet, Éléonore wasn’t the kind to lose her composed appearance easily. 

“You’ll find no witches here, Father. I would not undertake this mission without full certainty of the accused’s innocence.”

“Bold words from someone who isn’t even a certified lawyer.” 

“We have Her Grace the Princess’s full approval. I’m certain a Romalian official understands the weight of such support.” Valencia’s position shifted as he regarded Éléonore with a mixture of amusement and caution. Much to Eddie’s annoyance, he’s been fiddling with the silver pendant on his neck the entire time.

“Naturally, all nobles are equal in the eye of the law and Founder’s brilliance. We are all permitted to indulge one another, even in the pettiest of follies.” Prosecutor’s eyes shifted towards Eddie. “And who’s your… bodyguard, such as he is?” 

“Hey, you—“

“Perish the thought, Father. He’s a mere volunteer helping with the furnishing. I have nothing to fear. A bodyguard is superfluous.” The roadie could tell, Valencia took this one personally. His smug smile vanished as his eyes shifted back to the blonde.

“I don’t think I like the implication of your words.” 

“I leave the interpretation to your no doubt boundless imagination.” And he took this one personally, too. This time, Valencia looked downright murderous for a moment before his composure returned. His bodyguard’s eyes shifted towards him, but otherwise she didn’t move a muscle. She was good, Eddie could tell. He could also tell that there was something weird about her...” 

“As said, all Nobles are equal in the Founder’s eye.” Prosecutor smiled again, but this time the expression was obviously strained. “Please, do keep that in mind. Overstepping our bounds, vast as they are, is a terrible thing to—“

“Dude, you’re gonna have to stop.” Eddie cut in with a frown. “Fucking hell, it’s like you don’t know what a court of law is.” Éléonore bit back the reproaching hiss too late. Valencia’s smile widened again. “You’re here to argue whether Siesta is a witch or not. Stop threatening people just because they don’t agree with you.” 

“And I see this volunteer of yours, Miss Attorney, is quite familiar with the accused, calling her by her name and all...” The roadie’s face of sudden, terrible realization would be a sight to behold if Éléonore wasn’t trying her hardest to keep herself from snarling. She just had to decide who to snarl at; both men present were worthy of it at the moment. “Why, with that zither on his back, I can already tell he’ll be relevant in the proceedings. Now that would be a discovery; a coven in the heart of Tristain—“

“Sir. That’s enough.” The female bodyguard spoke up with a tone of utmost certainty, voice like hardened steel. Valencia looked at her, mildly surprised, before relaxing his posture and returning to a pleasant, smug look. 

“I suppose that is. We have to give the defense _some_ handicap before they embarrass themselves completely at the start.” The prosecutor thus turned on his heel, waving the two members of the home team offhandedly on his way out. “Then may the qualified lawyer win.” 

“...apologies. He is a handful.” The bodyguard bowed her head low. “Good luck with the trial.” And then she joined her bothersome charge. For a moment there was nothing but silence in the room. 

“Germanian. Bend down so I can throttle you.” Éléonore slowly spoke out, knuckles white with abject rage. 

“After trial? In, uh, in case I have to speak up.” 

“Works for me.” 

\----

The court was crowded.

Henrietta looked upon the gathered folk from her elevated seat of the judge. It was her role to oversee the trial and ensure the smoothness of proceedings. By her right sat Cardinal Mazarin, a wise old man of cloth and Tristain’s representative of the Church; by her left – Count Mott, in an exquisitely azure outfit, shining with opulence. In front of her seat, behind a panel of thick oaken wood, stood Agnes and the Viscount of Wardes, both in full regalia, and with a line of Royal Guardsmen keeping watch.

On the left was the defense’s stand, with Louise’s eldest sister standing resolutely on her own. Henrietta caught the pinkette – wearing a black creation so different from her usual look, complete with the spiky bracelet - in the first row of onlookers, together with Ed of Germania (although he was standing to the side, back resting against the wall) and a couple more people who were likely to be the witnesses. When their eyes met, Louise very pointedly turned hers away, and the imminent monarch of Tristain couldn’t help but feel her heart ache. Was there really no use to try and reconcile?

On the right was Prosecutor Valencia, idly playing with his silver pendant and tapping his fingers on the desk, demonstratively impatient. His bodyguard stood to the side in perfect poise. Everyone was present. It was now her turn to begin the proceedings – and reach a point of no return.

“By grace of Founder Brimir, The Good Church, and the Crown of Tristain, the trial of Siesta of Tarbes begins thus.” She announced, nodding towards the cardinal. He tapped his ornate staff with a resounding thud, a part of the ritual of the court. “Is the prosecution ready?” 

“Naturally, Your Highness.” 

“Is the defense prepared?” As prepared as I can be, Éléonore thought, adjusting her glasses. Valencia was a cad, but he probably knew what he was doing.

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

“Then let us begin with the accused. Please bring in Siesta of Tarbes.” Louise shifted nervously in her seat. She could see a couple of familiar faces; Guiche and Montmorency in the back, Professor Colbert and Old Osmond in the second row, Kirche and Tabitha to the side there… were all of them summoned by both the defense and the prosecution? 

The guards brought Siesta in, and Louise’s voice failed to come out from sheer shock. The maid looked bad – her face was red from tears and swollen and she barely moved her feet. To the guards’ credit, they did not rush her, but it might have had something to do with bandages over her legs and… and… where was her left ring finger?!

“...are you people daft?!” Before she could voice her rage, it was Count Mott of all people raising from his seat, face indignant. “I said no torture! No harm was to come to the maid! What is the meaning of this?!” The crowd of onlookers too erupted in a heated debate. Henrietta looked horrified, and, which was an even more harrowing sight, so was Éléonore.

“Please, do not be concerned, Count.” Valencia spoke out, and Louise could already put together what happened. She felt a hand on her shoulder keeping her in her seat – it was Professor Colbert, shaking his head with a steely glare. “Before trial, I took the liberty of personally interrogating the witch, complete with tools of persuasion. That being said, Your Highness, you may be interested in hiring a new technician for the purpose. This one was, for lack of a better word, completely inept and too softhearted for his own good. Claudine here handled the proceedings.” He gestured towards his bodyguard. The woman didn’t move a muscle even when everyone’s eyes moved towards her for a moment.

“There was no agreement to such methods.” Cardinal Mazarin spoke sternly, but the prosecutor appeared unconcerned by the reproach. “The accused can barely stand in this state.” 

“Then get her a seat.” 

“Siesta of Tarbes’s guilt is not yet proven. That is the purpose of this court meeting.” Henrietta spoke, but her voice carried nowhere near as much authority as the cardinal’s. “To assume otherwise is making the mockery of the law.” 

“You are quite right, Your Highness, I do feel like I’m being mocked.” Valencia’s relaxed pose straightened and his smug smile vanished. “You have a witch plain as day, with evidence and confirmed testimony and even a confiscated focus, and you insist on playing this charade like she isn’t one. We have her written confession, I can present it at your discretion. To do anything else would be making light of the Church and Founder Bri—“

“Your Highness!” Éléonore’s sharp voice, complete with a dull sound of a fist hitting the desk, made everyone present jump just a little. “I ask that Prosecutor Valencia is held in contempt of the court! I furthermore request that the accused is given prompt medical aid!” 

“How dare you?! I am a holy servant of the Chu—”

“Very well.” Henrietta nodded, and this time her voice carried much more power despite its low volume. Valencia jumped as if sprayed with boiling water. “The court is adjourned until Siesta of Tarbes recovers from her injuries. As for you, Prosecutor Valencia, you are given your first and only warning. If you cannot behave adequately, we will ask Romalia for a prosecutor that can.” 

“T-t-this is an outrage! This is the defilement of the holy cloth and our faith!”

“Now get this girl a Water Mage.” The princess slumped back in her seat as Valencia’s indignant sputtering mixed in with the chatter of the court. 

\----

“I was this close to throwing a spell at him.” Louise admitted, looking down on the floor. “The man is a monster.” 

“While understandable, do try to reign yourself in.” Colbert nodded, sitting by her. “We won’t help Siesta by disrupting the proceedings.” 

“He looked great though once they told him off, like a turkey about to be served for Thanksgiving.” Eddie chuckled, offering a gentle pat on the shoulder to the pinkette. “You did good, Louise. Keep up the nerves.” She looked up with an uncertain smile before looking back down.

“...Brimir’s balls, I sure hope I can.” 

\----

In the end, Siesta still had to sit at the witness stand, but at least most of her personage appeared undamaged, save for a stitch on her left ring finger; fortunately it was still possible to reattach it with no ill effect. Her face was still red from tears and she pointedly avoided looking at anyone, but it was a start. Her written confession of guilt was rendered invalid as well, since it was all but certain she was forced to do so at pain of, well, pain. Louise had a lot of mixed feelings about Henrietta, but she could admit she handled the proceedings justly and smoothly so far.

“Alright then, let’s get this farce over with.” Valencia grumbled under his breath, circling the witness stand like a vulture. “Your name, age, and occupation, witch.” 

“I ask that Prosecutor Valencia stops calling the accused “witch”.” Éléonore called out with a frown. Her first little win over the insufferable Romalian aside, she couldn’t let her guard down. 

“Very well. Be mindful of your words, prosecutor.” Henrietta replied, casting a heavy look at Valencia. He replied with a heavy look in return before starting to circle Siesta once more. 

“Name, age, and occupation.”

“S-siesta of Tarbes, seventeen. I am a maidservant at… at Tristain Academy of Magic.” 

“Now that’s just a treat. A coven in the heart of Brimiric magic...” 

“Prosecutor...” 

“Be at ease, Your Highness. I’m just… thinking aloud.” Valencia strained out a smile before returning his attention to Siesta. “Now then. You are aware of charges placed upon you, correct?”

“Y-yes, milord...” 

“And what do you say to them?” 

“They are true. I am a disgraceful witch and a heretic unworthy of the faith.” For a moment, the court hall was silent. Then, it exploded with the sheer volume of chatter. Louise shifted in her seat. Eddie’s eyes trailed to the prosecutor and then to the unmoving bodyguard. She nodded reassuringly. A couple more slams of the cardinal’s staff, the volume quieted down.

“Well, there you have it, honored spectators.” Valencia’s smug smile returned. 

“Really now?” Éléonore allowed herself a smirk. “Do you think we will be satisfied with just that?” 

“What _more_ would you even need?” 

“Perhaps an honest testimony by the accused not feeling threatened by an overbearing prosecutor.” Valencia tutted, shaking his head. He never stopped circling Siesta either, and the blonde could tell the maid was watching his every move. If that wasn’t feeling threatened, she would burn all of her degrees on magical theory and research this evening.

“I suppose I might be a little hard on the poor soul.” With a dramatic sigh, the prosecutor returned to his stand. “Very well then. Please, the accused, tell us of how you’ve come into contact with witchcraft.” 

“...my family has ancestors from eastern fringes of Germania. Some of them practiced pagan rituals. Before me it was my grandfather. No one… no one else in my family has any aptitude for witchcraft, milord.” A thought came to Louise’s mind, and she didn’t like it one bit. 

Valencia presented the Thunderhog’s bass to the court. “You were using this instrument to perform your witchcraft, correct?”

“Yes, milord...” 

“Is there anything special about it?”

“No, milord.” 

“Do you know of any other witches using instruments like these?” Despite herself, Siesta looked towards Louise for a brief moment before realizing the fact and shaking her head vigorously. Éléonore shifted a bit in her place, and then bit back a curse when Valencia made that punchable face of his even more punchable by smiling that insufferable grin. 

“Can you elaborate, prosecutor?” Henrietta asked, already fearing the answer. The maid very clearly looked towards the pinkette. “I fear the court does not follow your trail of thought.” 

“Naturally. There are two people in this court holding instruments not unlike the one the accused used. One is a traveling skald from Germania by the name of Ed, and the other… well, I hope the defense is aware of the fact that it may have to defend two defendants at once.” 

“Are you accusing me of witchcraft, Prosecutor Valencia?” Louise stood up from her seat, everyone’s eyes on her. The prosecutor smiled reassuringly, and somehow that made him even more shifty-looking. 

“Oh no, perish the thought. I did hear, however, that your track record of magic has been quite… unorthodox, if you will—“

“You should speak more clearly then. I have no intention of hiding the fact that I was once called Louise the Zero.” Valencia’s smug look lessened a little. “It took the reexamination of my focus and my methods of casting spells, but I have nothing to hide from you.” Then she sat back down, a series of hushed whispers circulating around for a bit.

“...we are going a little off-topic.” Mott chimed in, avoiding eyecontact with the pinkette casting a glare upon him. “Does the prosecution have any more questions to the accused?” 

“...mm, no, not at the moment.” Valencia smiled and returned to his stand. 

“Then it’s time for the defense to present their first witness.” Henrietta said, looking towards the blonde on the left. 

“Naturally. I would like to summon Guiche du Gramont to the stand.” One of the guards helped Siesta out of her seat and led her back to her confined spot, and soon it was a blond heartthrob standing before the majesty of the court. Éléonore cast a critical look at Guiche, and he shrunk despite himself under this withering glare. It seemed all of House Vallière held the magical ability to immobilize a man with a brief look alone. It was the bespectacled defender’s turn to circle around the witness. 

“Your name, age, and occupation, if you please.” Guiche nodded nervously, trying not to bite his tongue out of sheer anxiety. Everyone’s eyes were on him, and the news that Siesta might have been a pagan witch… but surely not…?

“G-guiche du Gramont, Miss Defender, aged seventeen, a student at Tristain Academy of Magic.” 

“You’re familiarized with the accused?” The blond heartthrob blushed and averted his eyes. Louise couldn’t help but look where Montmorency was sitting, eyes glued to Guiche’s back of head, as if she was preparing to sink a knife in him for saying a wrong word. Truly, such was the power of mad love. 

“Yes. It is I whose wounds she healed.” 

“I see the defense decided to save face by aiding the prosecution.” Valencia smiled, playing with his pendant again. Éléonore returned the smile, together with a murderous glare. 

“Spare me your biting remarks, prosecutor. Mr. Gramont, do you recount the healing process?” 

“Well, quite. I was indisposed after myself and, I must stress, Louise Vallière fended off Fouquet of the Crumbling Dirt.” Here, in a surprising show of bravery, the blond looked towards the prosecution who once more was concerned more with his pendant than the proceedings. “I must say I find the accusation of my classmate’s guilt outrageous.” 

“Luckily, that is for the court to discern.” Valencia shrugged. “Please, continue. I’d like to hear this wondrous defense my opponent has planned in full.” The blonde on the other side of the hall glared back once more. The atmosphere was tense enough one could cut it with a knife. Guiche cleared his throat nervously.

“Well, I awoke from my slumber a few days later, in the middle of the night. The accused, Miss Siesta” Louise looked towards Montmorency again. Sure enough, she was bristling, with Malicorne offering weak efforts at calming her down. “sat by my bed with her zither and played the tune.” 

“Did you feel anything unusual at a time?” Guiche blushed again. Éléonore took off her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose in annoyance. “Mr. Gramont, the court still needs to hear the whole story, even if you find it personally embarrassing.” She added in after a moment of undecided silence on the witness’s part. 

“...yes. I must confess, my heart stopped for a moment.” The silence afterwards was long enough to make the sudden slam of the defense’s fist on the desk that much more pronounced. 

“ _What?!”_ The prosecutor leaned back with a triumphant, amused laugh. The crowd of onlookers erupted into agitated chatter as Cardinal Mazarin tried futilely to silence it with his staff. Louise was still in her seat, lip quivering in disbelief and eyes wide as saucers. Did… did Siesta really…? But there was still no malicious intent, what if she didn’t mean to? But what if she had bungled something and Guiche died in his bed there…? “Explain this at once, witness!” 

“Yes! Yes, I would be glad to! I cannot bear it any longer!” Was that it? Louise looked towards Eddie, as if asking if this is a time to reach for the nuclear option… only to find him looking vaguely amused at the situation? She took a sharp turn towards others. Most seemed as tense and concerned as her – and then there was Zerbst, barely holding back laughter?! What was going on?! “I was smitten, Miss Defender! Siesta of Tarbes stole my heart that night!” 

The chatter was cut down in an instant, as was Valencia’s laugh – now he looked like someone who swallowed a fly. Everyone’s eyes were on Guiche, gripping the top of the witness stand and looking absolutely dead serious. “...this is five years of my life shaved off just like that.” Éléonore muttered under her breath. “...Your Highness, I would like to request a ten minute recess, so all of us can… take a deep breath.”

“...I’ve no objections.” Valencia nodded after a moment. Henrietta, herself looking like she just survived a brush of death, nodded in kind. 

“Very well. The court hereby announces a ten minute break from the proceedings.” 

“Ah… um, b-but my testimony...” 

“Mr. Gramont, that will be enough.” The princess cut into a suddenly embarrassed Guiche’s stutter. “Ten minutes of recess.” 

\----

Louise found all of her limbs to feel like jelly.

“Whoa there. Here, let’s seat you down.” Luckily, Eddie was there to catch her before she flopped inelegantly face-first on the floor. “Yeah, I saw that coming.”

“I sure didn’t! God, I’ve half a mind to ask Monmon to let me have at him!” She groaned in frustration, sitting back down on one of the couches. “Éléonore looked ready to rip him apart, too.” 

“You think she was scary?” Kirche approached with a smile, Tabitha following behind. “That sham of a prosecutor had to be held back by his bodyguard. He really isn’t used to not getting his way.” 

“What are you two even doing here, anyway?” 

“He summoned me as a witness, and Tabby followed. We got here on Sylpheed.” The redhead explained with a shrug. “Naturally, I’ve nothing incriminating to say about Siesta, so he’ll find himself disappointed.” 

“...still, what if she is a witch?” The bluenette asked quietly. 

“Well, this must be the most benevolent witch I’ve ever laid my eyes on then. If her only account of magic is healing another person, then sharpening a stake seems a bit over the top.” 

“Ugh… tell me about it.” Louise sighed, feeling the solidity return to her limbs. “But my sister’s prepared for that.”

“You look quite similar, hair colors aside.” The redhead hummed, smiling in a vaguely amused way. “The same fierce countenance, explosive personality, and a slender svelte frame~” 

“...Brimir’s balls, Zerbst, she’s ten years older than you.” Kirche only replied with a laugh, but it was a short one. In fact, her look changed to quite serious almost on a dime. “...what?” 

“I’ve seen you shift uneasily when Siesta mentioned her family.” 

“...I think Valencia’s people might be holding them hostage.” Everyone present frowned. “I don’t have anything like… proof or anything, I just have this terrible feeling that...” 

“Want me to ride there and check it out?” Eddie asked, folding arms over his chest. 

“I, um…”

“No, that will not do.” Tabitha shook her head. “We’ll go.” Now Louise couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. “You’ll need Ed if things go bad.” She did raise a good point, though. 

“And for all the pros of the Deuce, it’s not a very stealthy ride.” Kirche joined in with a smile. 

“I can’t ask you this, I mean… this could be dangerous...” Louise made a little ‘eep!’ when the redhead suddenly put her hands on her shoulders, looking her right in the eye. 

“Louise. I’ve done you a lot of harm before. Truly, I don’t know if I can earn your forgiveness, but I can at the very least try.” Kirche smiled again. “And if your hunch proves wrong, well, nothing for it. Getting from here to Tarbes on Sylpheed is hardly any time spent.” 

“Well, if you’re going, you should have some extra backup.” Eddie sighed, taking both of the swords off his back. “You dudes okay with it? Uh, blink. Nod. Do something non-verbal.” Fortunately, both of the magical blades could handle that request just fine: Battle Cry flashed with gold briefly and Derf jiggled gently in the roadie’s hand, as if to nod. 

“I suppose we could.”

“Might be hard to carry...” Tabitha frowned before shaking her head and just accepting the unlikely gift. From the main door, a guard called out that the proceedings were about to be resumed. “Thanks. We’ll be back.” 

“You take care too.” Louise nodded, looking resolute. “We’ll do all we can to keep Siesta safe. You just make sure her family is unharmed.” 

\---- 

Count Mott was the prosecution’s first witness. 

Contrary to what Louise was expecting, his account of the happenings was dry and as objective as it could be. Perhaps it was Valencia’s slime conditioning her for less slimy characters, but the Royal Messenger looked almost respectable there at the witness stand. 

“I’ve no further questions. Does the defense?” The prosecutor was certainly back to his smug self, at least Some things didn’t remain changed for long. And yet, Éléonore was looking unusually sure of herself. Her sister knew that this was the time of legalese, what they’ve been reviewing the entire night. It was time to put the entire nature of the trial in question.

“I do, in fact, though these might be more for the prosecution.” Valencia’s eyebrow raised. “Please tell me, do you know what a definition of a “witch” is?” The prosecution didn’t reply immediately, carefully assessing the worth of this challenge.

“...is this a trick question?” 

“Far from it. Since you’re insistent on avoiding the question, then let me explain, both to you and to the honored court.” The blonde reached down under the desk with a minor huff of exertion, producing a sizable grimoire adorned with holy symbols of the Church. “This book is the main codex of Brimiric Law, _Lex Illustratur_. I’m sure a self-proclaimed student of law recognizes it.” Valencia bristled – he most certainly did – but didn’t reply, just boring the defense with his glare. “And this...” Here the defense brought out another, only slightly less sizable book. “is _Subtilitatibus Magicae_ , by pens of La Luna Synod attendees, all of them esteemed cardinals and archbishops of the Church.” 

“Are you intending to bore me with things I already know? I thought the defense was supposed to be capable.” 

“If you know it, then it’s likely you know what I’m about to unleash. All this arrogance and condescension will vanish once things will be revealed.” Valencia’s face turned chalk white from indignation. “Your Highness, Your Eminence, honored guests, I’d like to introduce you to chief reasons why Siesta of Tarbes cannot be a witch. Please bear with me for some time. And as for you, Prosecutor Valencia...” 

Éléonore Albertine le Blanc de la Blois de la Vallière grinned like a predator about to sink its teeth in its prey. “You picked the wrong house to make light of.” 


	24. People of the Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the court battle reaches its troubled crescendo, while Kirche and Tabitha figure out the whole Tarbes problem.

As it turned out, Louise’s hunch proved correct.

The village of Tarbes was a quaint little place, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, save for one oddity that was a strangely shaped mound nearby the entrance to the village. Nobody in their right mind would have much use of it. Seeing it from atop Sylpheed, Kirche felt strangely nostalgic all of a sudden. Long ago, when things were simpler and brighter, she and her brother would travel all around the Zerbst duchy, causing all sorts of mischief. The Sandalwood Flames, they called them.

“Kyuu...” She didn’t understand Tabitha’s trills and warbles in the slightest, but even she could tell that the dragon wasn’t feeling particularly sure of their chances. What the redhead saw as mere black dots, Sylpheed perceived perfectly as people in black garbs. Skilled, armed, dangerous, not just mere brigands or sellsword dropouts. The small mansion of the Lord of Tarbes was there too, shorts ways from the main body of the village, surrounded by his men, standing watch. Sylpheed could tell: they were scared out of their wits. 

“We’ll have to approach the village one way or another.” Battle Cry hummed, strapped to Tabitha’s back. Kirche found the comparison between her frailty and the blade’s ruggedness to be an amusing sight in itself – but this was hardly a time for levity. “Do you have any idea how to do so?” 

“We could pretend to be visiting the Lord of Tarbes.” Kirche suggested, moving some locks off her face. “Though I don’t know if he could play ball with us, so to say.”

“Sounds like those dudes in black will just tell you to leave, at best.” Derf chimed in sourly. 

“Kyuu?” 

“Yeah, I can see them too. Doesn’t look like there’s any mage with them, but they could very well be inside one of the houses. And even then, that’s like twenty something armed mercs.” 

“Miss Tabitha can pass for a native, but I doubt Miss Kirche can...” Lars didn’t appear very convinced of the idea. “Frontal assault, and I cannot believe I’m saying it, too seems impossible.” The bluenette nodded without a word as they hovered above Tarbes, high enough to be hidden from sight. 

“Something on your mind, Tabby?” 

“...yeah. I was thinking… just promise me you won’t be mad.” 

“Why would I ever be mad with you?” 

“Well...” Tabitha thus went on to explain the plan. If Derf and Lars could exchange a look, they would likely be doing so at the moment as the bluenette went on about what she considered the safest and most likely way of getting to Tarbes. Kirche listened, and, much to her shame, some part of her did feel mad. Fortunately, the rest of her was just greatly amused at the sheer audacity of her friend’s idea. Make the gossip a reality, and fool your opponents with it. 

“You… uh, you sure you wanna do that?” Derf asked, sounding a little uncertain. 

“Well, what other options have we left?” 

“Touche.”

\----

This must have been what Hell looked liked, Antonio Valencia thought, resisting an urge to bang his head on the wooden desk.

His opponent in court, a Tristain harlot equal parts skilled and insolent from a house he once perceived as noble and pious, has just finished reading through the treatises on magic, witchery and pagan rituals. The prosecutor looked towards Henrietta de Tristain, the proceeding judge. She too struggled to keep up, as did most of the witnesses and onlookers. The one who seemed to comprehend the situation at all was the old cardinal, nodding sagely with each breakthrough the defense made.

Bah. “Breakthroughs”. More like floundering of a lamb cornered by a wolf. “That concludes my explanation.” The blonde said, smiling someone who’s already won. “Does the court or the prosecution have any questions?” Silence. “Well, then I suppose it’s fair that I introduce my second witness. As stressed, no amount of defense can help the accused if malicious intent is proven… so let’s prove it. I thus ask Headmaster Osmond to the witness stand.”

Soon the old wizened mage stood there. “Your name, age, and occupation, if you please.” He stroked his beard, looking mildly thoughtful about something.

“Must I? I’m certain everyone present knows me by heart now.” Osmond chuckled, watching Éléonore glowering at him. “Ah, but I suppose that’s just how it must be. I am Osmond, aged sixty and some, the Headmaster of Tristain Academy of Magic.” 

“Sixty and some? Surely you cannot be serious—“

“That will do.” Unfortunately, Osmond had a tendency to be whimsical at most inopportune of times. It was something Éléonore had grown accustomed to during her own tenure at the Academy. Valencia’s sputtering could wait for now. “Are you familiar with the accused?”

“Yes, certainly. All members of the staff are introduced to me during their first day of work. Miss Siesta is no different.” 

“Please then, tell the court something about the accused.” The Headmaster stroked his beard in thought for a few more moments. While annoyed with him taking his time, the blonde still could at least get a kick from Valencia’s hunched form and bared teeth. 

“I don’t know her very well personally, but I’ve nothing wrong to say of her. In fact, I’d like to make a statement in the name of all staff of the Academy that we have no reasons to believe that she holds any ill will towards anyone.” Puidemont was likely to grumble a little, but Osmond could handle that at a later time. “She’s a sweetheart, really.” 

“Is that right…?” Valencia looked ready to take his route of attack, although this time he lacked a smug smile to go with it. “Headmaster, there are rather unsavory stories about your… ahem, proclivities with—“

“Well, Father Valencia, your agents will need to up their game.” Osmond replied with a hearty laugh. The prosecutor’s face resembled that of a someone biting into a very sour grapefruit. “I have no qualms about admitting that I’m still something of a stallion, but barring my now-indisposed secretary, I do not make unsavory advances on anyone.” 

“Yes, Mathilda de Saxe-Gotha, aliased Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth.” This time the prosecutor smiled. “That’s a glaring oversight for such an esteemed mage to commit. What are the odds that you have missed a witch coven in—“ He was interrupted by now-familiar sound of Éléonore’s fist slamming down on the desk. 

“This is grasping at straws! We’ve just established that by definition of esteemed cardinals of old, Siesta of Tarbes’s abilities do not conform to witchery, nor is there any malicious intent to be found! The prosecution is stalling for time!” She snarled, glaring daggers at Valencia. He met the challenge with a glare of his own. His bodyguard remained still, even if her body tensed ever so slightly, ready to get her reckless charge out of harm’s way.

“This entire trial has been nothing but a farce! You dare to find loopholes in holy codices and abuse the established order of things?!” For a moment, Éléonore looked ready to bite back before looking at the honored court, then at Osmond, and finally back at her opponent with a relaxed smile, opening her arms slightly and shaking her head. 

“Father Valencia, why not come clean? You have nothing you can prove the accused’s guilt with.” She was right, much to his chagrin… but he wasn’t going to come down quietly. And if she was planning to be so condescending to him, then it was time to strike dirty.

“The trial is not over yet. We can call in witnesses until we are satisfied.” He looked towards the onlookers. The Germanian strumpet stood him up, but that was fine. He had something much more biting in mind. “Thus, I’d like for Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière to take the stand.” He observed that his defense’s expression could not mask a sudden surprise fast enough. Oh, there was a couple more people glaring daggers at him right now – both the princess, as he’d been told a close friend of the witness, and the skald on the side, likely her Familiar (Valencia knew the summoning runes well enough; unauthorized summoning of a familiar was an offense to the holy law as well). Alas, ‘twas time to do his holy duty. 

The pink suspect met his stare with a defiant glare, making her way to the stand with a poise not unlike the fabled Duchess of the Heavy Wind.  Very good, very good. The harder they’ve struggled, the more satisfying it was to bring them down. “Please, witness… your age, name, and occupation.” She gave them without a moment of hesitation, and that was all Valencia could ask for: this wonderful hubris that would topple her in the end.

“Now then… tell me of your relationship with the accused.” 

\---- 

“Ah, but what is the meaning of this? To obstruct a young, strapping noblewoman like myself is most improper, you know!” Gustavo Mancini rolled his eyes in annoyance, finding himself at wit’s end on how to chase away the annoying Germanian tart. 

His men were currently occupying Tarbes on orders of Father Valencia. His direct representative, a surly fellow by the name of Mr. Vivaldi,  was having a talk with the Lord of this middle of nowhere to ensure his cooperation. Really, there was hardly anything to occupy here. The village was hardly worth a mention, but Father Valencia insisted that they get here and ensure compliance from the locals, under the pain of death and damnation. Luckily, there was no need to invoke their divine right to make law as servants of the Church – in this backwater clump of hovels, there was hardly any resistance to be found. 

And yet, now he had to deal with a Zerbst, of all people. Fiery and passionate, and all of them likely to be disgusting heathens. Apparently, this one was so perverse to have picked one of the lads from the village –  who, to his knowledge, had yet to grow any facial hair - as her personal boytoy. “I’m afraid I cannot let you proceed.” Mancini said with a weary sigh, trying to ignore an indignant gasp from the redhead. “That is non-negotiable.” 

“Listen to him, Tabitha, dear! ‘Non-negotiable’, he says! Do you know who I am, sir?” A promiscuous harlot, he wanted to say. What was the deal with the other girl, anyway? Both of them wore uniforms of Tristain Academy of Magic, and the bluenette didn’t strike him as particularly into abducting commoners for own wicked pleasure. Then again, you never knew: Zerbsts were likely a corrupting influence. “I demand to see my beloved Julien! I long for his strong embrace!” 

“I just said it’s impossible. There is a high possibility of an epidemic. You coming in can spell trouble for the whole country before long.” Unfortunately, he couldn’t say this was Church business; that privilege was Mr. Vivaldi’s alone. “I understand the frustration, Miss Zerbst, but—“ 

“Ah, such monstrosity, such callousness. I am barred from seeing my favorite commoner… please, my good man. Have you no heart? Must I convince you to let me in?” 

“How many times must I—“ The redhead smiled and leaned over, flashing even more of that scandalous cleavage of his. Mancini was a pious man and a Father’s servant, but a man nonetheless. “What in Brimir’s beard do you think you’re doing?” He asked, realizing that, much to his chagrin, his voice shook a little. 

“Ah, but is it not obvious?” The tart shuffled in closer with a wily smile. “I’m terribly in love, my good sir, and if it means I must commit unspeakable offenses, then what is that to a woman so smitten?” 

“Fucking… I said—“

“Tabitha, if you could please undo my mantle. I have to show Mr. Mancini the depths of my forbidden dedication!” The bluenette barely resisted an urge to roll her eyes; Kirche was clearly having way too much fun with this sellsword. It seemed to be working, to her credit. “Or perhaps… you’d like to show your own dedication to my cause as my dearest of friends?” 

“Gladly. Where do I start?” She replied flatly, staring first at Mancini’s flustered face, and then below his belt with the same emotionless look.

“How _old_ are you even?!” 

“Age is but a number for true passion! Now, Mr. Mancini, tear your pantaloons off! I shall commit to this immediately!” 

“Alright, fine, Brimir’s fucking balls!” Mancini threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. Madmen. This entire kingdom was nothing but savages and lunatics. “You want to go in so badly, fine! The dragon stays, though.” Sylpheed, sitting a little in the back, made a disappointed “Kyuu”. “Saints above… just don’t tell me she’s into lads too?” 

“Actually...” 

“ _Don’t want to hear it.”_

And that was how Kirche and Tabitha made it to Tarbes. Mancini was even kind enough in his frustration to show them where Siesta’s family was. For once, the redhead did not regret chatting with the maid every now and then. Sure enough, inside the cottage there was a veritable family of seven siblings and their parents, watched by two unsavory types in outfits not unlike Mancini’s.  They bristled upon seeing two strangers – mages, even – come in, but the leader’s gesture caused them to stand down. Rather pointedly, both of them had grievous-looking cleavers out in the open. 

“Lady Mage” Mancini made a face. “here to young Julien. Just make it quick, Brimir’s beard. You two, go switch out with the ones at the blacksmith.” Kirche made a spectacle of approaching the lad in question who, luckily for their little play, stepped out a little when called out. The rest of his family, too stupefied and still frozen with fear for their and Siesta’s lives – the mage leading the group told them that was why Tarbes was being occupied in the first place – just watched as he turned hapless Julien into a plush toy to cuddle and coddle.

Tabitha cleared her throat. “We’re Siesta’s friends. Sorry for the show.” She said, looking briefly towards the redhead still keeping up appearances for any curious ears outside. “Please, stay calm and tell us all you know about these men in black.”

\---- 

Back in the Royal Court Hall, Antonio Valencia was triumphant. 

At first glance, testimony of Louise de la Vallière left nothing to be happy about. He expected her to blow up and say something incriminating, yes, but at odds with her rebellious attire her recount of the situation was measured and composed. Admittedly, she pushed his buttons a bit when the discussion went towards Ed of Germania, her Familiar (“Why, this must be the burliest witch I’ve ever seen, Father”, followed by actual raucous laughter from the onlookers), but he regained his cool swiftly enough. 

The defense knew something was up, but the bespectacled blonde opposite of him was making a good effort at keeping her face unreadable, lips pursed in a frown. “That will be all, Miss Vallière. Thank you for your contribution.” Valencia smiled at the pinkette. Her defenses dropped briefly out of surprise before she excused herself back to her spot. “If I may, I would like to summon the accused back to the witness stand.”

“To grill her some more?” Éléonore replied with a biting remark. The prosecutor smiled and shook his head.

“No. I’d like to publicly apologize. It appears I have been mistaken about the nature of my accusation towards her.” The blonde frowned even deeper. Something was amiss. The way he worded this almost certainly meant he had something else in mind for Siesta… And yet, the smooth, apologetic tone and the word choice blended together perfectly to make everyone present drop their guards. 

“We did it! We did it!” Completely disregardful of decorum, Louise was happier than a pig in mud, running over to Eddie for a fistbump. 

“Didn’t doubt any of you for a second.” He replied simply with a smile of his own. In came congratulations and good wishes from other onlookers. Valencia looked towards the judging body. Count Mott seemed slightly disappointed, the princess was open about her relief, and only the wizened Cardinal Mazarin seemed thoughtful. Down before the oaken panel, both Agnes and Wardes maintained their professional looks. 

How angry all of this was making the good father. Such ignorance to holy laws, such disregard for tradition.  He was angry with himself too, for having overlooked the obvious solution, for letting himself be dragged into their pace.

He was more than happy to turn every single one of these heretics’ relieved looks into despairing gazes right at the end of the trial. 

\---- 

Though help got to Tarbes, the situation inside was still dire. 

According to Siesta’s family’s words, the village was overrun with men in black. Their orders were to keep anyone from leaving the village, and they had no scruples about it. A few villagers had already died, either attempting to escape or putting up the resistance. None of them but the one in the Lord’s mansion was a Mage, but that was a cold comfort. The math was not in Kirche and Tabitha’s favor. 

“Is Siesta okay…?” One of the little ones asked. The redhead looked down at the small girl that couldn’t be older than seven, clutching her worn down cloth doll. “She’s not a witch, is she? She wouldn’t do witch things...” 

“She’s… she’s still in the court.” Kirche sighed. “Very smart people try their best to save her, but I don’t know how they’re doing now.”

“She’s not a witch.” Tabitha nodded resolutely. “She has a gift, but she’s not a witch.” 

“Yeah! Big sister is kind and pretty, not like witches are!” Another one of the small ones, ten at a glance, nodded in kind. 

“How many people are in Tarbes right now?” 

“Hundred or so, give or take.” Siesta’s father replied. “That’s without the Lord’s servants and himself.” 

“We could barely smuggle out one or two...” Kirche bit her nail in frustration. This brilliant plan of theirs wasn’t nowhere near as good as they first thought. Unfortunately, with Sylpheed out of the village and them right in its heart, this was becoming an increasingly more difficult task. Even with Tabitha being able to see through her familiar’s eyes, that didn’t do very much for them. “How on earth did this happen? You’d think the local nobles would care more about the subjects.” 

“They appeared without any warning, and Lord’s men aren’t much for combat.” The patriarch of the family said wearily. “There is a garrison in La Rochelle, but they must have slipped past somehow. This is a calm land, with nothing to fight, really.” 

“There must be something we can do. Even if we were able to grab one of you with us and take you back to Tristania, they’d notice a missing person easily enough.” Kirche’s lips turned into a single thin line. “And I loathe to think what that would mean for the rest of you.” 

“The only way is to repel them.” Tabitha confirmed with a nod, looking even more grim than usually. For a moment nobody said anything, but the bluenette noticed that the smallest one – about three years old, maybe – seemed to want to say something. She knelt down by the chubby little boy trying to utter out the words. “Yes? Do you have something in mind?” 

“B-big… big head...” The bookworm tilted her head in confusion. 

“...oh! The Demon Skull!” Julien, the second oldest after Siesta, spoke out with a sudden realization. “It’s… the, um… it’s a skull on a wagon. A big, huge skull with horns, a-and it has this huge crossbow sticking out of it!” 

“Nobody knows where it came from. It was decided it would sit at the back of the shrine, just in case it was a cursed item.” Siesta’s mother explained, though worry creased her face as she went on. “Our priest said it might have come from another world, but none can say for certain.” 

“No, I can say with certainty that I recognize the description.” Lars’s voice rang out suddenly, startling everyone present – most certainly Kirche, who nearly jumped from surprise. 

“Oh, I guess we’re not being silent now.” Derf chimed in flatly. 

“W-what the devil…?” 

“I’m sorry for surprising you. We have our reasons for remaining silent.” The tab on Battle Cry’s blade shone briefly. “And since there’s no time to waste, I’ll say this: we need a way to the shrine. From there, I believe I know the basics of operating that machine, and it might be just enough to prevail.” 

“The tunnel!” Another one of the small ones piped in, clapping her hands excitedly. “The one Julien and Hugo dug out!” The two perps blanched at being sold out in the moment of excitement. 

“Well, if it helps save everyone, I think we can overlook that kind of shrine desecration...” The father sighed, offering both boys gentle headpats. “...we cannot thank you enough, miladies, noble blades. Tarbes shall forever be in your debt.” 

“Now now, let’s save the thanks for after the battle.” Kirche laughed, but something inside of her tied into a knot. One way or another, this was shaping out to be a lethal conflict. Crossbows were nasty weapons, and she could only imagine what a giant one would do to a man. “Tabitha, Derf, stay here for now. Once we roll out, you’ll probably hear us.” 

“Okay. Kirche… stay safe.” The redhead smiled and leaned down to kiss her friend’s forehead. 

“They shan’t kill me. Zerbsts don’t die to mundane.” 

\---- 

“Your Highness, Your Eminence, honored court, honored opposition, honored guests.” Prosecutor Valencia cleared his throat. Nearby, his bodyguard shifted slightly in her spot. What was about to happen was likely to come down in history as one hell of a riot. “I came here from Romalia with good intentions. My mission was to localize and stamp out the threat to our good faith, which all of us follow.” 

Louise frowned. He sure was taking his time in proclaiming Siesta’s innocence. Probably wanted to draw it out to spite them. “You okay…?” Eddie asked. 

“Yeah, I… I think. I didn’t do all that much, all things considering...” 

“You survived his grilling pretty well. That’s good enough. And don’t tell me all this read-up session yesterday didn’t matter.” Louise smiled slightly. 

“I suppose it might have...” 

“...and so, faced with strong opposition, I almost made a terrible mistake.” Valencia opened his arms and bowed his head down. “I can only apologize the accused for the trouble.” Siesta, still flanked by guards, shifted nervously in her seat. Despite everyone looking at her encouragingly – even Miss Montmorency did, despite everything! - she couldn’t shake off the feeling of imminent grief. “I’d like to proclaim as thus: the Church of Brimir has no evidence to condemn Siesta of Tarbes as a witch.” 

The room exploded into excited cheering. Valencia’s smile widened. Yes. Laugh all you want. Cheer all you want. ‘twas the time to kill it all in a single swipe. He saw  Éléonore’ s face flash in recognition and the subsequent dread. He looked towards the wizened old cardinal, who likely had always suspected this was how it would end. The prosecutor cleared his throat, bringing attention of the onlookers to his person. 

“There is, however, one last pressing matter to attend. I’d like to ask my opponent one thing, something so elementary all of us gathered here can answer it with no issue.” He saw the skald familiar frown as well. Yes, let them slowly come to terms with the crushing defeat. “What is the most important Law of the Church? The first principle, something Founder Brimir established himself, which continues to hold to this very day?” 

The room was silent. Louise, startled by the sudden lack of cheering, looked towards her elder sister – and her breathing stopped for a moment.  Éléonore  stood there as if caught red-handed on something deeply embarrassing, trying and failing to put the words together. “Answer the question, please.” 

“I… er, um… that’s...” Louise’s eyes widened as she looked towards others. Eddie was slowly reaching for his guitar, Henrietta and Mott were nothing short of horrified, Siesta becoming slowly smaller as others looked between her, the inquisitor and the defender… 

And then the realization hit her, pronounced only when Valencia, for a first in this trial, slammed his fist down on the desk. “ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!” He snarled, more of a beast than a man. His ponytail came undone, the mane of silver hair surrounding his face like a thorny crown of a mad king. Nothing. Silence. “...very well. I’ll say it then.” He grinned, and the grin too was nothing short of feral.

“Magic is for the Nobles to wield. This is the one law that trumps over all others. No matter how you slice it, Siesta of Tarbes is not a noble, but a commoner, a peasant. It’s irrefutable.” Slowly, he straightened out, reaching behind to redo his ponytail and assume the guise of a civilized man once more. “Such aberration must be excised from the world for the good of all. On the grounds of mortal heresy, I ask that the court grants the stake and an escape to this tormented soul.”

“While we are at it, I would like to point out that Éléonore de la Vallière must have been fully aware of the heretic’s social status. On the grounds of an offense to the Church, I ask that she, and the entire House Vallière, is stripped of her dukedom and disgraced as a Noble—“

The sharp cord of Clementine diverted everyone’s attention towards Eddie, teeth gnashing against each other. “How about you shut the fuck up?” Valencia smiled condescendingly  at the roadie. “I’ve heard enough from you and your shitty Church.”

“And that too shall be counted among the charges against House Vallière.” The prosecutor leaned back, taking in the disbelief, the looks of utter betrayal, of powerless anger. It was only a matter of time. The court could do nothing but support his decision – and if the Familiar thought he could just try and disrespect his authority, they would put him in his place. “Which, naturally, brings me to the head heretic, Louise Fran—“ 

To his credit, he didn’t even blink when a high-pressure stream of water came for his head, deflected into the ceiling with a blast of wind to match it and piercing it with a screeching cry. Wardes was nothing if not lightning fast, as befitting his rare affinity, swordwand held at the ready. Valencia chuckled, looking towards the defense holding her wand in her chalk-white hand, threatening to snap it in two, teeth bared in fury. 

“You would dare, Wardes?!” She cried out in righteous anger. 

“My personal feelings about the prosecution are secondary to my purpose of ensuring safety of all present.” He replied in an even tone, not meeting her eye-to-eye. “Though I would rather he does not accuse Louise of heresy without substantial proof.” 

“True, that is a matter of another trial. Your Highness, a righteous verdict for Siesta of Tarbes, if you please.” Henrietta did not answer, looking upon this scene of utter misery. By all accounts, Valencia was right. Siesta of Tarbes wielded magic despite not being a Noble, which went against the natural order of the world. Even if she didn’t fit a definition of a witch, she was out of place in this rigid universe, and so had to be removed. 

“...don’t do it, Anne.” The princess flinched as all eyes moved from her to Louise, head shaking and eyes watering. “Please… don’t do it…” 

“...Your Highness...” Although there was pressure in Count Mott’s voice, he took no pleasure in reminding her of this grim duty. “I understand it’s not an easy task, but...” 

“It’s piss-easy!” Valencia slammed his fist on the desk again. “Just say the verdict! What more proof to you need?!” 

“Yeah, fuck this! Louise, Plan B!” 

“Don’t even think about it.” Agnes had a pistol in her hand before anyone could blink. “You move a muscle towards the princess and I’ll blow your brains out.”

“You call yourself a Royal Guardsman?!” Now it was Guiche’s turn to point his rose at her. “Disgraceful!” 

“We’re getting too carried away, everyone!” Old Osmond cautioned with an enhanced voice, Colbert by his side. “Put down your weapons, right now…!” 

“The verdict, for fuck’s sake!” 

“Your Highness, please...” 

“Louise!”

“Don’t, you little twerp!” 

“Monmon, fall back, ‘tis dangerous!” 

Henrietta’s head was pounding like an anvil. But, perhaps because of this great pain, the revelation came to her. The vision of a beast of steel and fire, a phantasmal projection, standing behind Louise and Ed of Germania both, a promise of  calamitous catastrophe, the god beyond Brimir. 

She knew. “THE VERDICT, OR FOUNDER HELP YOU—“

“Not guilty.” She spoke with absolute clarity of mind and voice, shutting off the arguments and quarrels in an instant. Everyone stared at her, but this time she did not run. It was time to fulfill her Brimirdamned duty that she was shirking from for so long. “Siesta of Tarbes is not guilty.” 

“...Your Grace?” The most surprised of all seemed to be Siesta herself, staring at Henrietta like she was some sort of fantastical creature. Previously as small as she could be in the chaos, the maid stood up. One of the guards helped her up as she looked up at the honored court in disbelief. 

“ _ **Excuse me?**_ ” Valencia was the second to speak up, and his voice was not that of a human being. It didn’t match his expression of muted surprise at all. “Is this a joke?”

“Are you questioning the decision of the court, Father?” Henrietta looked down at him without any emotion, like an iceberg staring down a ship. 

“Am I questioning, am I _questioning_ the decision of the court?” He looked down, seemingly asking himself more than her before he started chuckling. “I see. I see how it is. I see… I see… I see Tristain has strayed from the light of the Founder, I see...” 

“Or perhaps the one who strayed is you?” 

“You pus-filled whore—!” His head rose sharply up before Valencia went down flying from the force of the hit, barely managing to stay upright as he held his bloodied nose with a pained scream. 

“Shit. That was nice.” Eddie muttered, watching Agnes idly scrap the bits of torn skin off her gauntlet. 

“Quite, wasn’t it?” Louise, voice still shaky, and Wardes both chimed in, the latter pointing the swordwand at the immobilized prosecutor. “I hope you do not object that we incarcerate him, Claudine the Carnage?” Valencia’s bodyguard smiled ever so slightly. 

“By all means.”

“You won’t… neither of you will get away with this… there will be war… a holy crusade...” The prosecutor snarled, his words semi-unintelligible due to the broken and bloodied nose. “Housing a heretic… whole gaggle of them...” 

The doors to the court hall opened with a grand slam. “Actually, you’re mistaken even here, Father.” Everyone’s heads turned towards the unfamiliar voice. Henrietta’s cool mask dropped like a rock  and her eyes widened like saucers.

Standing at the doorstep, flanked by both Karin and Centurion de la  Vallière  stood none other than the deposed prince of Albion, one Wales Tudor, smiling a ladykilling smile. “For I can prove that Siesta  of Tarbes has relation to the royal family of Albion.”


	25. Eternal Flames of Metal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kirche and Tabitha have their Tarbes misadventure, and the J's rescue the elf lady.

Mr. Vivaldi was angry again. Just my lot in life, Mancini thought.

“What do you mean you let outsiders in?” He screeched, his loud voice completely at odds with his wiry look. The merc leader shrugged, idly watching the Lord of Tarbes – a portly, middle-aged man of a completely unassuming disposition – look about as worried as he could be, given the situation. His focus, naturally, had been confiscated. “That is completely unacceptable! You are Romalia’s servants, Brimir’s balls, act like it!” 

“It’s _fine_. It’s just some Germanian tart from the academy with a friend here to get mushy with the locals. I doubt she’s got half a brain to even think we’re from Romalia.” 

“Even if it’s a tenth of a brain, this is too much risk! What if they extract the vital persons from this backwater village?” 

“They can’t possibly leave without us noticing. The whole place is policed, and there are no tunnels out.” A moment of thought. “There’s one at the house of that witch, but it only leads to the shrine. I presume some of her siblings dug it out for fun.” 

“There’s a priceless ancient relic in there!” Vivaldi’s voice was, in fact, high enough to shatter the hapless glass of wine in the Lord of Tarbes’s hand. Fortunately, no shards embedded themselves anywhere, though the sovereign of the village looked quite upset to be deprived of even that one mercy in this terrible situation. “I’ll have Father Valencia discharge every single one of you!” 

“That stupid-looking wagon?’ Mancini frowned. “Nobody even knows how to operate it. Hells, it doesn’t look like you can steer it in any way.” 

“That is no excuse! Have these women escorted out of the village immediately!” The mercenary leader sighed, rubbing his temple in annoyance. 

“Just sit back and take some air off you. Hells, you look like you’re about to pop open. Have a nice little talk with the Lord here, about whatever it is that you nobles like to talk about and—“

Mancini was interrupted by a loud explosion, followed by an anguished cry of one of his men. The Lord of Tarbes jumped a little in his spot, then shrunk when the two of them gave him a look before exchanging one with each other. “...don’t even fucking say “I told you so”.”

\----

A couple of minutes earlier…

Kirche dug herself out of the tunnel with a pained moan, putting Battle Cry outside on the floor first. That definitely wasn’t the kind of entertainment she was into, and the way to the shrine was certainly made with smaller people in mind (she had her guides go first so they wouldn’t sneak a cheeky peek). Now with her clothes disheveled and dirtied, she stood before a vehicle that made Eddie’s Deuce look mundane in comparison.

“That’s indeed a Headsplitter.” Lars confirmed when she picked him up, examining the Demon Skull. “Hm. I never got a good look at these.” 

“How do you operate it? There doesn’t seem to be any space for a driver…” 

“I think they are automatic… and I think I know how to turn it on.” 

“I’m all ears, Lars.” 

“Stick me into the engine.” Oh. Kirche made a face. A couple of amusing anecdotes from Vindobona about exploding steam carriages spoke quite plainly that sticking sharp objects into engines, cauldrons and the like usually ended poorly. The little ones, having no idea what a steam carriage even was, seemed to agree with her subconsciously. 

“...and you are sure it won’t turn into a fireball?” 

“If the Gods will it.” Well, they were running out of time either way. Kirche sighed and looked at Siesta’s siblings accompanying her. 

“Go back home. Tabby and Derf will do her best to protect you and your family.” 

“Please be careful, Miss Kirche…” Julien mumbled, fighting back an inexplicable blush. The redhead smiled and gently patted him on the head.

“I’m sorry for earlier. Will you show me around Tarbes later?” If there would be a later, she briefly thought before squashing that notion clean. 

“Y-yes! I will be the best village guide ever!” He nodded resolutely, eyes slightly teary-eyed. 

“Alright. Run along now.” Once the two of them disappeared in the tunnel, Kirche looked at the tab on Battle Cry’s blade. “Well, Your Majesty… shall we give them hell?” 

“For the sake of Tarbes, and glory of its Metal… let it be so.” The redhead took a deep breath, turned the blade downwards and stuck it deep in the middle of the engine. The machine rumbled, and at the same time Battle Cry shone brilliantly, its fabulous magic giving energy to the wheeled automaton.

And the Headsplitter, built by the free peoples of Bladehenge, was more than happy to serve again.

\----

Tabitha watched, staff at the ready, as Kirche busted open the doors of the shrine, perched behind the giant crossbow built into the Demon Skull. Siesta’s father, hands shaking nervously, was a small distance behind with Derf in his grasp.

“Lemme see, lemme see...” Currently, the sword was being just a little upset at being denied the first-hand spectacle. The skull-topped wagon belched out fire wreathing around Battle Cry as Kirche took aim to viciously impale the first of the men in black raising his gun. It was kind of disconcerting for the bluenette, honestly, seeing her friend not only take so easily to killing, but to relish it. (“Score one for House Zerbst, scoundrels!”) 

Hm. Perhaps the whole “Gods of Metal” bit wasn’t hot air in the end, but if that was the result… “Julien, Hugo, there you are!” Siesta’s mother called out. The two that accompanied Kirche to the shrine had just returned from the tunnel, dirty but unharmed. Tabitha was deep in thought. The men in black were just mercenaries, really. There had to be a mage leading them from somewhere, presumably the Lord’s mansion.

What were the odds of her being able to sneak past to assassinate him…? Wait, no, perish the thought. As things stood, she’d probably have to go help Kirche first. The Demon Skull was a formidable weapon, but her friend was wide open on top of it… “Nobody move! Which one of you lot led her there?!” One of the mercenaries that previously guarded the family busted inside, his threatening cleaver drawn and ready to be unleash upon the innocents.

Not having much time to conjure a spell, Tabitha opted to simply smack her staff into the man’s knee, causing him to flop forward with a curse, face-first right in front of Derflinger. “Stay where you are...” Siesta’s father said, holding the blade at the merc’s neck much more steady than even moments before. Another mercenary came in with his own cleaver, but this one had to contend with Tabitha’s icy spell, pinning him to the wall with an icicle as he struggled to get out, to no avail. She threw an iceball his way to knock him out cold for good measure.

“I have to go and help her...” The bluenette muttered, looking out. The men in black were in disarray, but that wouldn’t last forever, and they still had to see the ringleader mage himself. “I’ll leave Derflinger with you. Do you have anything to guard yourself with?” 

“There’s a couple of knives from the kitchen...”

“Oh, come on! You’ll have me sit out all the fun?” Derf grumbled. 

“Sorry. Need you to ensure safety.” 

“To be fair, you’ll have everyone going after you and Kirche real soon.” 

“We should be fine, Lady Tabitha.” Siesta’s father nodded after a moment of hesitation, watching as his family incapacitated the first of the mercenaries, binding him and depriving him of weapons. “Sir Derflinger might help you out more than he can help us.” The bluenette wasn’t quite sure of that. Derf didn’t really display any fabulous powers to make fighting easier for anyone, especially not for someone of small stature and already carrying a staff like herself. He was a sword, plain and simple.

But then again, so was Lars. “...right. Take care.” Tabitha nodded as she accepted the blade from the family patriarch and set out onto the battlefield.

\----

Mr. Vivaldi and Mancini were treated to a bizarre sight upon leaving the Lord’s mansion.

The Demon Skull was very much operable and riding on its own, seemingly without any input from its rider – the redhead Zerbst, currently sending one Mancini’s men behind cover with a fireball – as it fired huge bolts at anyone unlucky enough to be recognized as its enemy. Keen-eyed, the mercenary leader noticed an oddity: the sword he saw the girl wear on her back previously, that strange relic with a tab etched on it, was now standing atop the wagon, stuck in a strange hunk of metal in front of it.

“Aim for the sword.” He growled, grabbing hold of one of his pistols. 

“Don’t order me arou-” Mancini didn’t bother listening to Vivaldi’s screeching, dashing off towards some of his men hidden behind one of the houses. One of them had already parted with this sordid earth, with a length of a bolt piercing through his body. The others must have dragged him to safety out of a misguided hope his life can be salvaged. 

“Captain! What on earth’s going on?” One of them called to Mancini, looking – much to the leader’s disgust – like a rat in a cage. 

“Some rowdy noblewomen, apparently.” This wasn’t time to joke, but what else was there? Vivaldi was their main mode of combating larger foes, and he seemed more interested in throwing a fit and deflecting stray bolts with gusts of wind. “Any of you got a crossbow or a musket?” 

“Gerard has one! He’s on the other side of the village though...” Then it was time to make a break for it. 

“Right. You lot stay here, don’t go in the open. That infernal thing seems to be working on its own, it can probably spot you and gut you no problem.” It wasn’t the first time he pulled his team out of the fire, and he wasn’t planning on it being the last. Putting a bolt through the tart’s chest wouldn’t stop the wagon – if anything, it’d probably make it even more dangerous – so he had to put that sword out of it with applied force. 

Ducking between the buildings, Mancini made it to the halfway of the village before a familiar sense of being watched caused him to stop, right before an icicle flying an inch before his nose, passing by with a bone-chilling whirl. He fired sideways without looking; the pistol bullet crashed into a freshly-erected wall of ice. He turned and immediately ducked under another icicle before rolling back to safety behind a corner of the house.

“You kids must be out of your minds.” He growled, catching the small waif emerging from behind the ice wall with his sight. She wasn’t stupid, immediately building another makeshift cover. Fast and efficient, dangerous… Triangle, at the very least. What were they teaching these brats at the Academy? “You know who we are.” 

“Invaders.” Oh, and she had a sharp wit too. Just great. “You can retreat still.” 

“Gimme a break. That red friend of yours killed my men. I’m not letting you off that easy.” 

“Wouldn’t be here if you didn’t invade.” Invade this, invade that – they were Romalia’s men. They could very well do as they pleased (Mancini was unaware at a time that their superior was currently breaching that generous supposition). If there was a witch in a village, it was only natural that other villagers had to be contained and, if need to, purged. Heresy was something to combat, and the Church and its men had done so for many years before. 

If the witch proved to be a dud – unlikely, but possible – then he and his men would simply vanish with the same swiftness that they appeared here in. No harm would come to the villagers, and they would go on with their merry lives, with the fake witch rejoining their society should they so choose… and as Mancini thought both of their righteousness and their battle plan, he realized too late that the ground under him was awfully cold.

Tabitha tapped the ground with the butt of her staff, seeping a chilling trail down to Mancini’s position all that time as they conversed. The ice path erupted upwards in a bunch of spikes, accompanied by an agonized scream of a man being skewered from below. A dirty, ignoble death – but such was her profession to deal these with chilling frequency until recently. She hadn’t lost her edge yet, nor were the ice puns made to cope with the awfulness of her situation any less clever.

“...did you just…?” Derf asked. 

“Let’s move on. Kirche is still fighting.” 

In the end, Gustavo Mancini never reached that musket.

\----

It was a royal mess all around.

Mancini’s men were of little help, hiding around corners like rats, and Mancini himself was nowhere to be found. Mr. Vivaldi was at his wit’s end, trying to ward off the infernal mechanism and the redhead atop it, shouting profane slogans of “Heavy Metal” and “Fiery Passion”. He was an accomplished Mage, but his professions were surgical strikes and precise attacks. How on earth could he possibly compete with that clump of metal?

Suffice to say, Mr. Vivaldi had resoundingly ignored Mancini’s advice. Ridiculous, commoners ordering nobles around. After this mess was over, he would have to go and voice his displeasure to Father Valencia – if he would be able to leave, that is. “You will kneel before Brimir’s servant!” He called out defiantly, flinging another spell at the Demon Skull. The infernal machine was a resilient piece of work, ignoring flames and high-pressure water – two elements that Vivaldi wielded.

“Some servant, taking hostages to fulfill his goal!” Kirche snapped back, comfortable to let the Headsplitter do the heavy lifting as it fired a bolt after bolt, guided with Battle Cry’s mystical power. Unfortunately, Vivaldi was capable at defending himself, redirecting fired projectiles to make an impromptu fortification around his person, making the following bolts less effective. She didn’t like her chances in a direct fight either; Water Mages were her bane, and there still could have been some sellswords around trying to take a potshot at her while she was distracted. 

“What we do, we do with holy purpose!” Vivaldi screeched, the stream of water nearly hitting her right on the face as it whizzed by her cheek and made a bleeding cut. “You are the one calling blasphemous idols to your aid!”

“But are they not working?!” She laughed in spite of the wound. Oh, it was so invigorating, almost addicting to ride atop the Demon Skull. The power Lars was using to animate the vehicle seemed to have rubbed off her. It was the same fire of passion she first felt when she saw Eddie drop a flaming airship on Guiche’s Valkyrie, now tempered by the thrill of combat and raw power. 

...she had to ask him about guitar lessons, maybe… “If Brimir doesn’t work as intended, perhaps he should try somewhere else!” Kirche laughed again, but some frustration was growing underneath. They were at a stalemate, and given enough time, Vivaldi would find some way to gain an upper hand. The Headsplitter was amazing, but all it could do was firing these bolts…

So when she caught sight of Tabitha sneaking closer to the fight, she made a fatal mistake of looking at her for a moment too long. Vivaldi sensed the impending doom and ducked behind the palisade of fired bolts to avoid the fired icicle, replying with an aqua cutter of his own make. Too late to do anything about it, Kirche’s enthusiasm died in an instant, replaced by horror, as the stream impacted her friend dead-on…

Or so it seemed to both the redhead and triumphant Mr. Vivaldi, before the magical energy all but vanished. Tabitha was holding Derflinger up as it sucked the water attack in, the sheen of his blade turning blue for a moment. There was nothing but silence on all sides before the church’s assassin let out a choked cry of surprise.

“What the devil…?!” So surprised was he that he had no defense against Tabitha’s attack who recuperated from her own stupor faster; an icicle went right through his throat, causing him to cough out blood. “H-how… why…?” He groaned through his dying throes, falling backwards flat on his back, spilling the liquid of life all over the place.

“Magic sword, chump!” Derf called out cheerily in response as the bluenette made her way towards Kirche, who was currently at a loss of words. Tabitha didn’t approach her immediately, opting to walk over to where Vivaldi was dying and make the matter certain by running him through the heart. “Oh, huh, that’s a strange sensation. It’s been a while since I’ve killed someone.” 

“Better safe than sorry.”

“Fair enough. Speaking of safety, you may want to brace yourself.” Tabitha didn’t waste time asking about “why”’s – and had little time to do so, as Kirche was upon her with a crushing hug, holding her up and fighting back tears. 

“Don’t scare me like that anymore!” She said, holding herself from inelegant blubbering. Tabitha couldn’t help but smile. 

“Sorry to make you worry...” Staff dropped to the ground and Derf dripping Vivaldi’s blood in one hand, she slowly eased into the embrace, enjoying the curious mix of Kirche’s perfume and the sharp smell of sulfur. To this bizarre scene were the arriving garrison from La Rochelle – led here by Sylpheed – and Tarbes’s inhabitants treated to, as were Mancini’s remaining men, knowing better than trying to cut and run against an actual armed force.

Thus ended the siege of Tarbes.

\----

Somewhere far away, in eastern Germania, Tiffania Westwood and her flock of children were in quite a predicament.

It all began somewhere else entirely, in the floating nation of Albion. She ran an orphanage there, a small affair for lost lambs displaced through monsters, disasters and, more recently, war. Reconquista was a formidable opponent for the royalists, and they often were remorseless to those fighting them both actively and passively. For her part, Tiffania was fine staying in safety with her children. Nobody bothered them. After all, what political value does an orphanage have?

As it turned out, more than she would have liked. As a result, she and her lambs were captured and made to travel to eastern fringes of Germania. She wasn’t sure why they were going that far away from home, but their captors were tight-lipped about the situation. They didn’t treat them badly, not even her – and she’d forgive them for doing so due to her obviously elven heritage – with one exception of the leader of the mercenary outfit: an old man in a black cloak by the name of Mr. Strauss. He didn’t seem to be a part of the sellsword group, merely presiding over it as an employer.

That one was a bit of a “meanieface”, as young York called him. Oh, where could have he gone to? The group sent three men after him, but neither them nor he returned yet. Tiffania didn’t know much about Germanian forests, but the way her captors were unusually anxious, it was obvious that this wasn’t a place to be careless in.

“I will have one of those brats butchered if they don’t show up within fifteen minutes.” He snarled, giving Tiffania and the children a mean glare. “We’ve stressed time and again that defiance is futile. Perhaps we need to illustrate it better?” 

“That will not happen.” The leader of the mercenary group, a stern man in a uniform of an Albionian officer, shook his head with a scowl. “It’s bad enough you had us plunder an orphanage of all things, and take hostages. It’s about time you told us why we had to do that.”

“And I said that this will happen in due time!” Mr. Strauss ran a hand over his face, clearly having trouble keeping his cool. “My employers have reasons to believe that this elf is important to their plans.” 

“And the children?”

“They make her easier to coerce. If I were to grab one and threaten to wring its neck out, she’d do anything I would ask her of.” Here the old man smiled in a manner that left Tiffania feeling like she was doused in ice cold, slimy water. 

“You’re a sick puppy, aren’t you? Bah, I wouldn’t touch an elf in any other way than with a length of steel.” The leader shook his head. “Anyway, be ready to fight, men. For all we know, Richard and the others might have been eaten by whatever dwells in Germanian forests. We keep both the elf and the children out of harm’s way: that’s what the payment’s about. Are there any other questions?”

No one had anything noteworthy to add; even Mr. Strauss remained silent, content to grumble under his breath – at least until something got his attention. “Brimir’s balls…” He stared at the edge of the company’s camp, just outside the border between the dim campfire light and the darkness of the woods. There, shuffling his feet tiredly, was none other than the stray child the mercenaries were looking for. “Oi, men! The brat’s there!” 

“So he is...” The leader frowned. How fortunate – almost too much. Plus, his men were still missing in action. “He seems out of it. Oi, elfgirl!” He turned his attention to Tiffania, gesturing towards York. “Call him over. I’d rather this isn’t some nasty trap waiting for us.” 

Tiffania wouldn’t even think of exposing her children to danger, but the way he just appeared the moment he stopped being discussed could be seen as suspicious. Nodding uncertainly – and taking a moment to assuage one of the other lambs with a gentle hand squeeze – she took a deep breath. “York?”

“Miss Tiffania...” He called back weakly, making small steps towards the campfire. He really seemed out of it; something about the way he talked and stood was just a little too suspicious… and then all hell broke loose. Right after York appeared numerous assailants, both human and inhuman. Despite the merc leader’s caution, his men were still caught off-guard, though perhaps not because of an attack but rather because of who attacked them. 

And the motley crew of mysterious enemies was mystifying indeed. The normal rogues were fine enough, but then there were monsters, the likes of which Tiffania had never seen in her life. Some were small, one of them had a bigger arm than her entire body, and then there was some _thing_ with a horse skull for a head. Leading the charge were two men: one striking, with red hair, dark skin and a firm mallet he used both to swing and to cast spells; another less so, in black leathers, lanky and holding a tree branch of all things as his weapon. 

Tiffania had little time to think about this, mostly because the cage she and the children were in was suddenly lifted off the ground by the aforementioned thick-armed beast, a monster so hideous she couldn’t help but blanch, holding the lambs near her closer. And yet, there was intelligence in the monster’s eyes as it ran away from the fighting. Some of the rogues were securing York as well, keeping him out of harm’s way. Were these friends then, unlikely as they were?

“Don’t let them get away!” She heard Mr. Strauss shout, and then saw a green flare of a spell narrowly missing the cage. The children have finally recovered from their stupor; some were now screaming, others were clinging to her harder – it was getting a little uncomfortable for her, admittedly – and it was chaos, all around. Another green flare missed them, so hot that Tiffania couldn’t help but shield the children away from the blaze. 

The hideous monster ran with them a bit more before putting them down in a small meadow. There were a few more people in there, likely its allies. “Alright, that’s everyone but York.” One of those was a blonde woman in blue pants and with a huge gun, the likes of which Tiffania had never seen. This was increasingly becoming a showcase of things she hadn’t seen, she thought. “He safe?”

“Aye.” And then it was yet another limit of disbelief spoken when the monster spoke up – and in quite a cultured tone too! “Our friends are keeping him away from harm. Now then, little ones...” Here the beast addressed the hapless captives directly. “Huddle in one corner for safety. Jenny here will blast the cage bars open.” 

“B-blast the cage…?!” One of the children squeaked in fear. At this point Tiffania had no real option but to listen to their unlikely saviors, gently pulling her flock back into a corner. The cage wasn’t very big, but big enough for them to huddle together. The cultured monster looked toward the riflewoman Jenny and nodded. 

“Better close your eyes, this is gonna be flashy.” The blonde cautioned, hoisting her rifle up and taking aim. The cage bars were pried apart with a blast of pure red energy, less a spell and more sheer _force_ , something so unnatural that it looped right back to being the most natural thing in the world. 

“A beautiful spectacle, ‘tis.” Pantagruel the Ogre nodded sagely, watching the solid bars collapse from the power of Jenny’s Razorfire rifle. Soon there was enough of a hole in it for the group of captives to slowly trickle out of, led by Tiffania. “Now then, let us remain here. Our allies are fighting a valiant fight right now. One of them shall join us shortly.” 

“Hey, stop throwing short jokes around, big guy!” Called a voice from the woods, revealed to belong to a man of truly bizarre proportions, muscled but stumpy and with a forehead so heavy it all but covered his eyes, carrying York on his back as he ran. “Anyway, phew, I’ve got him here.” Curiously, it didn’t seem like the boy was as dazed as he was beforehand. In fact, he didn’t look any worse for wear, save for perhaps a look of minor exhaustion. 

“Good work. He okay?” Jenny asked.

“Sure is. Got the acting stones though. I’d never be able to pull that kind of look off.”

“Well, you’d need to be a bit smaller than that.” The strangely-shaped man made a slightly sour face before putting York down. “Anyway, now we wait until Moschee and the others finish cleaning up. Sure hope Jamieson won’t get himself hurt though...” York himself, meanwhile, flew into Tiffania’s arms. 

“A-are you okay, everyone…?” His tough boy facade crumbled against her motherly warmth: he was a child still, after all, and now that he didn’t need to make a mean face he was content to devolve into inelegant blubbering, happy that everything ended up okay for them. The elf smiled, rubbing his head gently, but now there was something else for her to address. 

“Was this this Moschee’s idea to have little York acting as bait?” She asked quietly. The members of his troupe froze a little on the spot. Uh-oh.

“Quite.” Pantagruel recovered first from the stupor, having found himself a more convenient place to seat. “I imagine you would be quite upset with him?” 

“I don’t think “quite” is good enough.” It was hard to get Tiffania angry – and even then she didn’t _look_ angry, merely slightly peeved – but tonight was one of those nights. “So yes, I’d like to have some choice words with him once all this is over.” 


	26. The Sentinel

The first stunning revelation came over a spot of Grand Grun, Albion’s favorite blend of tea.

“You lied?!” To say Louise was indignant would be understating her perception of Prince Wales’s sheer gall. The blond himself was content to sip his tea in peace, even as everyone’s eyes – Henrietta’s, Henrietta’s bodyguard’s, Éléonore’s, and that huge Germanian’s that, Wales was told, was Louise’s familiar – bored into him in sheer disbelief. Karin and Centurion de la Vallière – who, as the prince explained, pulled him out of a tight spot earlier – remained stone-faced.

“I do apologize, but it seemed like I needed to discourage Father Valencia from saying something both Tristain and Romalia would deeply regret.” He said with a light tone and a smile of a daring swashbuckler. “Unfortunately, this meant I stole some of the thunder from my cousin.” Here he smiled at Henrietta, who couldn’t help but blush faintly, looking the other way.

“It is likely that Romalia will wash her hands off him, but if he were to publicly declare war on Tristain, the far-reaching consequences would be quite disastrous, yes.” The recently successful defense attorney interjected with a nod. “Even if he is a lowly pawn.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. And yet, he had one of the more successful witch hunters of the recent decade at his side as a bodyguard. This warrants an investigation of its own.”

“Claudine the Carnage, Wardes called her.” Eddie cut in, ignoring the mildly annoyed look from the bespectacled blonde. “That’s a name you don’t get for mere paperwork.”

“That’s not a name you should get in the first place.” The duchess said firmly. “Runic names are ultimately as fickle as the ones who wear them, but those that use such openly hostile monikers either think too highly of themselves or committed grand offenses.”

“She is very thorough.” Wales nodded. “My late father had no ill word to speak of her.”

“Your late father…? Then does that mean…?” Henrietta asked, already fearing – and knowing – the answer.

“I’m afraid so. I’m the only remaining heir of the Tudor line. Came this close to expiring too, were it not for the good duke and duchess.”

“Bah. That would be untoward, having you plummet inelegantly from your own airship.” Duke Centurion chortled, only reflecting when the duchess gave him an annoyed glare of her own. Eddie couldn’t help but marvel. It seemed all women of House Vallière shared a number of startling similarities as far as mannerisms went. Louise gave both him and the others that kind of look a lot. “But ‘tis good that we stumbled upon you in the first place.”

“Pardon the question, but how did you get here so fast in the first place?” Henrietta questioned, briefly casting a glance towards Louise. Their eyes met for a moment, but the pinkette seemed content in looking the other way with disinterest. The princess’s heart ached. Of course. Her transgressions were not easily forgiven. At least now that the maid was proven innocent by her authority, the best healers in Tristain could attend to her properly.

“Cattleya’s little friend.” The duchess gestured towards a small blue swallow perched at the window.

“Huh, your other sister’s familiar is a swallow? That’s pretty cool.” Eddie hummed.

“Oh, um, not really. It’s just an ordinary swallow, as far as I know.” Louise replied sheepishly. “Cattleya houses a number of animals at her quarters. She has the kind of rapport with them that mages have with familiars though. It’s magical, really.”

“She let us know that the trial of witchcraft is currently proceeding in Tristania, with two of our children involved quite heavily in it.” Karin looked towards the roadie with a withering glare. “Thus we have asked Prince Wales a favor.”

“A favor I was happy to return. This Valencia character deserved nothing less than utter humiliation.” The blond prince smiled from above his tea.

“Still, he was not wrong.” It was Éléonore’s turn to look mildly nervous. “There is no denying that, by the laws of the Church, a commoner should not wield magic.”

“Brimiric magic.” Henrietta shook her head. “While non-Brimiric magic is technically considered heresy, your research was more than conclusive that Siesta of Tarbes does not fit a definition of a witch.”

“Well, if there’s a need for it, I can just let myself lie a bit more.” Wales hummed. “I dare saying that the word of a prince holds more water than a word of a disgraced priest. I heard he called you some untoward words prior to our arrival, dear cousin?”

“Water off a duck’s back. I have far less patience for harming my subjects however.” The soft countenance of the princess hardened as her eyes took on a steely glint. “It’s about time I stop letting others rule for me.” A little behind her, Agnes couldn’t help but hum in contented amusement. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I will have to discuss a certain matter at length with Cardinal Mazarin.” Her eyes softened as she looked towards the duchess. “...I imagine that you would like to talk to Louise and Éléonore.”

“...well, quite.” The duke admitted, briefly glancing towards the still personage of his wife. Both daughters couldn’t help but blanch a little, and so did the big Germanian accompanying them.

“Then I shall make myself scarce as well.” The prince of Albion rose together with Henrietta, offering a supportive arm for his cousin and a fellow monarch. “I trust the Royal Palace hasn’t changed much since my last visit, dear cousin?”

“N-not that I know of...” Although the specter of imminent trouble hung over Louise like a heavy fog, she couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at yet another time when Henrietta blushed upon being questioned by the prince. She looked towards Agnes for answers, but the bodyguard seemed as lost – and slightly annoyed, seemed – as her.

It was then when the door to the princess’s quarters opened and a courtier ran in, struggling to breathe. “Y-your Highness…! A news from the Lord of Tarbes!”

\----

Siesta, all in all, felt good with herself.

Now that the healers stopped attending her and told her to try and sleep as much as she could, in a soft bed of the royal infirmary, she had nothing better to do than to wait, and hope. Her family was still held hostage by Father Valencia’s men, and there was no telling if she would see them again. She wasn’t made aware if he could just contact them over a distance, but it probably wasn’t impossible for a mage, especially a Romalian minister. The terms were simple: if she simply confessed to being a witch, her life would be traded for the safety of Tarbes. A good trade, she thought.

But then, Louise’s sister’s artful defense gave her some hope. Perhaps Father Valencia would acknowledge his defeat if it would be proven that she wasn’t a witch? Among all this thinking, she couldn’t help but go back to her bass. Would she ever see it again? Even if the verdict was “not guilty”, and by the word of princess Henrietta herself even, she wasn’t sure if she could actually play it again. The healers did a good job at putting her back together – even the stitch to reattach her finger was barely visible – but Father Valencia’s bodyguard put fear into her. At his commands, it was repeatedly told and demonstrated to her that the hands that held onto a heretical focus could only be burned away.

...no, she couldn’t think like that. Positive thoughts. Her family would be safe. Her friends would come to see her soon, once the princess released them from her briefing. The bed was soft.

The bed was soft.

Siesta almost drifted away to a peaceful slumber, but then she saw someone slowly shuffle himself in in the corner of her eye. She didn’t realize it immediately, but it was none other than Guiche du Gramont. How the tables have turned: now it was her lying in an infirmary bed. “...am I… coming at a wrong time?” He asked softly, carrying what looked like a… box of chocolates? Siesta shook her head weakly, even as her mind told her to ignore him and drift away. Given her situation, she could probably be excused at least this once.

“I… apologize, perhaps I’ll come later—“

“...it’s fine, milord… please, stay.” She said, not sure why. Some part of her wanted to know why he came to visit. Wouldn’t Miss Montmorency be mad about it with him? She didn’t want to get Guiche in trouble.

“I’m no lord. Please, just call me Guiche.” He pulled up a stool for himself, watching her silently, the box of chocolates in his lap. For a moment neither of them said anything. “...Siesta… er, can I call you by your name?”

“If it pleases you, mi… Guiche.” The blond smiled uncertainly, struggling to put his train of thought into some coherence.

“I… never thanked you for healing me...” His eyes were drifting around, trying and failing to find something to rest on: he would always return to Siesta’s drowsy face. “You probably didn’t know that, but… well, Professor Puidemont said that I would be awake a few days later with no ill effect should you not use your… er, instrument.”

“Ah...” How embarrassing. So she almost died and made everyone upset with her for nothing? ...no, not quite. “I just wanted to help. It’s because of me that you were harmed in the first place...”

“Were it not for you, it is possible Louise de la Vallière would perish that fateful night.” Now that was a scary thought. Siesta hated the notion of anyone dying, but that Louise would die? It was almost too much to bear. “You’ve done her a great service, as you’ve done one for me. I… realize this is trite, but I came with a gift of appreciation.” Here Guiche gestured towards the box of chocolates. This was the kind of commodity Siesta saw rarely, if at all. Her pay as a maidservant at the academy was adequate, but such a box likely cost twice of what she sent her family every month.

“I c-cannot possibly, milord...”

“Please, I insist.” Guiche smiled. The maid was in no shape to actually reject the gift – even if she kept denying it, her guest would likely just leave it at the table. There was also another thing. She wasn’t present for most of the trial, but the room where she was sitting in didn’t have as thick a wall as one might have assumed. She’d heard some glimpses from the trial, including one from Master Gramont himself.

“Siesta of Tarbes stole my heart that night”.

No doubt she would be seeing Miss Montmorency too, likely not too happy to have found a rival after Guiche’s heart. The maid reasoned that his infatuation with her was just that – a brief flame, a flicker of passion that would soon subsume. At the end of the day, Siesta was just a maid. Even if she was a one quarter Thunderhog, she was still only a maid. There wasn’t all that much interesting about her. Compared to the heir of House Montmorency, no doubt a skilled mage and much more interesting than Siesta could hope to be…

“...Siesta, I… about the… I said something of grand significance during the trail, about you.” Oh no. He was going to say something socially untoward! They would both be in trouble. Louise could, perhaps, protect her from a wrath of a fellow noble, but who would protect Guiche? “Before I go into this, er… can I ask you a question?”

“Please.”

“Have I ever slighted you?” Oh. Has he? Most nobles at the academy just treated her like a servant. Some could be annoyed or throw a mean word or two, but she wouldn’t consider those slights – merely parts of the job. And yet, she couldn’t help but recall an incident from some time ago, before Eddie was summoned here.

“W-well… there was that one time with the bottle of perfume...” Guiche’s face turned sour for a moment before he chuckled lowly. Siesta shrunk a little. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought it up at all…

“I was a different kind of man, wasn’t I?” He muttered in self-depreciation, shaking his head. “I cannot begin to apologize hard enough.”

“P-please, mi-please, Guiche, there’s no need to apologize. I… it’s okay.”

“You would say that. I’ve yet to find someone who you would have a quarrel with.” The silence persisted between them as they stared at each other. Siesta felt her cheeks start burning with a radiant blush. “You really are an angel.” How could they not?! Stupid cheeks, giving her away like that! The maid nervously escaped with her eyes. “...ah, sorry. I’ve said too much, haven’t I?’

“N-not really… it’s fine...” She realized – much to her horror – that she didn’t mind the way he looked at her, as if she was a work of art. It was pure wonder, empty but empowering. Ah, but just what kind of scandal would emerge if she ever let these ideas through…? Well, it certainly wouldn’t beat being a suspect in a witch trial, but…

They found eye contact again, and this time Siesta didn’t shirk away from his gaze, even as his head lowered a little, bit by bit, getting closer and closer. He looked like a prince, she thought, the kind of prince that she loved reading about. Her favorite stories were romances of courageous knights and fair maidens, held together by bonds of true love. For once, Siesta wanted to be spoiled. She wanted to be a princess. The soreness of her body went away as she took in the gallant knight slowly coming closer to grace her with his benediction.

And then the doors to her room were opened wide, and her little siblings poured in. “Big sister!” Guiche stumbled back at the last minute, blushing up a storm as the little ones crowded around the hospitalized maid. Though the moment was ruined, he didn’t mind all that much, especially when he saw Siesta’s expression: surprise and shock that gave way to genuine joy as she let herself be held and hugged by her siblings. Familial love the likes of which he had not. Perhaps commoners had some things better than them, in the end.

“Mister! Are you big sister’s boyfriend?” One of the small ones asked and Guiche was violently brought back into the discussion, staring slack-jawed at the child in question. The others picked up on the idea, crowding around the sheepish blond. Siesta giggled from the bed. Yes, perhaps it might have looked like that. It would not come to be – realistically, Miss Montmorency was a much better fit for him than herself, a mere maid – but it was a pleasant dream to think of.

The last two people to enter were her parents. “I hope we’re not intruding, milord.” Siesta’s mother smiled with a hint of amusement, watching Guiche trying to manage seven younglings at once. “Welcome, Siesta. It’s been a while.” The maid smiled in turn, overcome with fuzzy emotions as she barely held back mirthful tears.

“I’m so happy to see you.”

\----

“They did _what_?!”

Wales was impressed, to say the least: Antonio Valencia might have just become the first man his dear cousin would be well and truly furious with. To see a furious princess, furious beyond a cold, calculating manner was a first for him, but the reasons were sensible: it turned out that the good father’s men took Tarbes hostage and killed some of its residents; all of this was to make sure that Siesta of Tarbes admitted to her false guilt. The reactions of the foppish Count jumping around her, trying his hardest to keep her calm, were quite an amusing sight though. Mott, his name was, he recalled.

“I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace.” Lord of Tarbes was on the floor in a pose of supplication despite having not committed any crime to speak of beyond being unprepared for an unexpected attack. “I’ve done a terrible disservice to the land you gave me, a-and to the people under my care…”

“Maximillien, Brimir’s beard...” Marquis-Captain Bordeaux, the leader of La Rochelle’s garrison, could only shake his head in disbelief. “Get up, you’re embarrassing yourself!”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Marquis! ‘tis unspeakable that I would be so weak and powerless a-and...”

“Count Mott… please take Baronet of Tarbes somewhere to calm down.” Henrietta, her good face marred by genuine frustration, rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“N-naturally… come on, my good man.” The Royal Messenger escorted the unfortunate lord out of sight and out of mind. Once they were gone, the princess turned back to the Marquis-Captain.

“Have you captured all of them?”

“The ones that were still alive, yes. Eleven men, all commoners, laid down their arms and surrendered once their leader – we identified him only as Mr. Vivaldi – perished.” Bordeaux nodded. “The Gallian lass claimed that life, as well as the one belonging to Gustavo Mancini, the formal lead sellsword.” Here the Marquis-Captain gestured to the two unlikely saviors of Tarbes standing a little to the side.

“Alright. Agnes, be so kind to take these wretches off Marquis Bordeaux’s hands. I want them under constant watch.” The royal bodyguard stood at attention, saluting, before she too took off to where the Marquis’s men kept the captured mercenaries. “Valencia, that damnable dog… that is outrageous…” Wales really couldn’t help but be impressed. That priest could take that feat to his grave, at this rate. “Thank you, Marquis. Feel free to return to La Rochelle once the formalities are finished.”

“By your command.” And now with Bordeaux’s departure, it was only the two royals and two students of Tristain Academy of Magic in the throne room. It almost sounded like the beginning of a joke: a Tristanian, a Gallian, a Germanian, and an Albionese walk into a bar…

“Miss Zerbst. Chevalier de Gallia.” This was their cue to step up, Kirche realized, trying to ignore the strange feeling of anxiety, no doubt caused by being in a vicinity of not one, but two rulers. Brimir’s balls, prince Tudor was easy on the eyes. So was the princess, now that she thought about it… wait.

“You’re a Chevalier? And you never told me?” Given how skilled Tabitha was, it wasn’t impossible, but Kirche couldn’t help but feel just a little betrayed. Her little blue friend shrugged indifferently.

“Never came up.” Fair enough. The two of them stood before the princess, the talking swords with them. Henrietta, still more than a little upset, took a moment to gather her thoughts.

“I’m not much for talking right now, so I’ll just say that I cannot express how grateful I am for your intervention.” She smiled, but it came off as more than a little strained. “Please, ask for whatever you want.”

“Hm… I’ve something in mind, actually, but I’d like to think on it. Can we decide at a later date?” Kirche looked towards Tabitha as if to ask if she was fine with that arrangement, and it seemed she was.

“Certainly. I’ll at least look somewhat more presentable later…” With that out of the way, now it was just her and Wales. With a sigh, Henrietta collapsed into her throne, rubbing her temple. “So this is what anger feels like.”

“I presume you have plans for that wayward priest?” The prince asked, shuffling over to offer a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The plum-haired monarch chuckled under her breath.

“You could say that. It’s a shame I already had Wardes sent with a message to Romalia. If that turned up earlier, we would have a much firmer ground for complaint.”

“I think you’ve a lot already.”

“Perhaps. Well, whatever they write back, I’m not planning on releasing that wretch out of a cell in a long time… but I suppose in light of these atrocities, my earlier discussion with Cardinal Mazarin might come to be.”

“And what have you in mind, dear cousin?” Henrietta smirked. That was a whole new look on her, Wales realized, the look of a ruthless iron queen. He liked it.

“I’ll have you invited for the meeting of the High Council, so you can see for yourself.”

\----

“I’ve made my terms clear enough, Edward Riggs.”

Eddie flinched, trying and failing to find something to rest his eyes on. It was hard to look anywhere or even think under that crushing glare. Karin was indeed scary enough to give him an actual pause. “My daughter was not to come under any suspicion of heresy, even by a disgraced priest.” He looked towards Louise, but she too didn’t feel like mounting a counterattack, instead trying to make herself look as small as possible.

“Remind me the consequences of a failure to comply to those terms.”

“...”

“Edward Riggs, you do not want to test my patience.”

“...y-you’d cut it short. The, uh, the magic learning...”

“Precisely.” The withering glare left him and went towards the third daughter of House Vallière. The duchess’s look towards Louise wasn’t nowhere as scathing, at least. No, he could feel that this hurt Karin even more than it hurt his Master. “I trust you understand why I do not think this is good for you.”

“...I do, Mother...” There was no conviction in Louise’s voice.

“It is unfortunate, but it is not as if a magicless Noble is any less than the one with magic.” The duke offered an awkward reassurance. Nobody bothered to reply to that. Centurion cleared his throat awkwardly.

“May I speak on the matter?” Éléonore broke the silence, eyes closed and hands on her knees. Karin’s eyes moved toward her eldest daughter. Despite not seeing that, the blonde could sense that the attention was on her. “The trial might have been about the maid, but it has proven something very particular about Louise. Chiefly, there is nothing wrong with her magic now that we’ve proven that there is nothing wrong with using an instrument as a focus.”

“Furthermore, I would indeed say that the word of a disgraced priest means little in face of his deeds.” The two oldest women in the room stared at each other. Karin was back in her withering glare, resisted defiantly by Éléonore. “He is a boor, a villain, and an insult to our faith.”

“You would defy my judgment, Éléonore?”

“As neither my foolish sister nor her Familiar feel insistent on talking, it is up to me to vouch for them. I would in fact consider this my second venture as a defense attorney.” The room fell deathly silent. Centurion and Eddie exchanged nervous glances between sneaking peeks at Karin and waiting with bated breaths just what she would say to that.

The duchess leaned back in her seat, tenting her fingers together. “Do you know who Louise is?” The blonde raised an eyebrow at the seemingly obvious question.

“...a Void Mage.” It was the third of House Vallière who spoke up, avoiding eye contact with anyone present. “I am a Void Mage, as been confirmed by Headmaster Osmond and Professor Colbert.”

“...you’re a _what?”_

“You’ve heard your sister, Éléonore.” The duchess stood up and walked towards the window, hands clasped behind her back. “She would not jest about such manners now, would she?”

“I… wasn’t aware...” Seeing the blonde be confused and sheepish both was a first to Eddie, he realized. “But if that is the case, then she will need education more than before! She must be ready for the adversity that awaits her.”

“...oi. What adversity?” This time it was Eddie who spoke up, shifting in place with a frown. Karin didn’t deign to turn back to look at him. “Come on, Louise’s Mom. I need to know what threatens her.”

“There are only four Void Mages in existence, at any given time.” She said simply, looking out the window at the miscreants escorted to the prison by the Royal Guard. “One for each of the Brimiric Kingdoms. Those with the Founder’s heritage are to rule. If they cannot, then they must be the shield and sword of their kingdom.”

“Christ, can you stop with the riddles?!” In his frustration, Eddie forgot about his earlier fear, hands balling into fists. The others in the room stared at him in disbelief, not sure if the man hadn’t lost his mind. “Look, I dropped the ball. Louise was supposed to know more about shreddin’ than what she knows now, but I’m not gonna just sit with thumbs in my pockets if she’s threatened by shit. Like, if they send twenty Valencias after her, she’ll need to know how to kick their ass!”

“And you think, in your wisdom, that you are adequate enough to defend her?”

“If I can’t, then I’ll go down swinging, and I won’t stop ‘til someone else can take over!” Another moment of silence. “I promise you this much: Louise will be amazing, or my name isn’t Eddie Riggs.” Karin remained silent for the longest time, staring out the window still before she slowly turned to face him. This time, Eddie did not balk at her withering glare.

“There is a place for such foolhardy bravado.” She spoke quietly, her gaze softening slightly. “Hm. I suppose we’re finished here. Expect an answer to your query tomorrow via a messenger, once I give it some thought. Louise, before you go back to the Academy, it would be prudent to let Henrietta know.”

“U-um… a-alright...”

“Well then, I suppose that we will be taking our leave.” Centurion rose from his seat, looking ever so slightly nervous. At the doorstep, Karin turned back to look at her daughters. “Congratulations on your victory. May it not be the last one.” Off they went. Louise and Éléonore looked at each other, and then at Eddie.

“...what?”

“I can’t tell if you’re the most foolish or the bravest man to have ever lived.”


	27. Iron

Having retrieved both Derf and Lars from Kirche and Tabitha – turned out, Louise’s hunch from earlier was more than correct – and received Founder’s Prayerbook from the princess, it was finally time to return to the Academy.

“So what’s so special about that book?” Eddie asked, briefly peering down at the leatherbound grimoire in the pinkette’s hands. It almost seemed too big and heavy for her to carry.

“Well, this is Founder Brimir’s personal prayer book.” Louise replied as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “He left behind four items that are said to aid next generations of Void Mages through their power, one for each of Brimiric Nation. Their effects vary, to my knowledge.”

“...who did he pray to if he was the one that began Brimirism in the first place?” Louise stared incredulously, realizing that she never asked herself this question. In his seat, Derf snickered. “Like, uh… that seems like important info to know.”

“I d-don’t know!” The pinkette replied defensively, puffing out her cheeks in a pout. “Doesn’t matter! What matters is that it’s on this book where Void spells are recorded. You can’t find that kind of knowledge anywhere else. There’s no fear of it becoming damaged or lost either – I see that look on your face, Eddie – since it’s protected by ancient magic. And, well, desecrating it sounds like a surefire way to get Romalia on your case.”

“Yeah, I wonder. You and Siesta are in the clear, but the way gossip works, not everyone might be aware of that.”

“The Royal Treasury is the safest place in all of Tristain to store something.”

“They said the academy vault is pretty safe.” Louise resisted an urge to roll her eyes.

“Besides, I got this from Henrietta’s hands either way. That’s about as trustworthy as it gets, unless you suspect the head of nation of something untoward.”

“Valencia sure thought so. Man, how screwed is he?” Eddie idly wondered. The spires of the Academy were on the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before they would return to the ordinary schedule. Back to class, back to a school uniform, away from world-shaking events that occurred in Tristania that day.

“Verily.” Louise nodded, deriving way too much pleasure from saying that than she thought was appropriate. How not to cherish such a terrible man’s downfall though? “...honestly, I’m just happy we managed to clear Siesta’s name. The doctors said she would be able to return to the Academy in a few days. Do you think you could pick her up from Tristania?”

“Sure thing.”

\----

The evening in Tristain’s seat of power promised grand events to begin. Henrietta had a meeting with the High Council scheduled shortly, but until then she had one more personal matter to attend do. With Agnes and Wardes – who returned from his urgent trip to Romalia moments ago – flanking her, she stepped inside the prison tower. The warden led her to the prisoner of choice – one unruly father of the Church of Brimir.

Antonio Valencia’s cell was the very one Siesta was previously kept in. The princess figured that a fine taste of irony is needed to fully humble the overzealous prosecutor and invader. After all, it was his men that attacked Tarbes, killed some of the residents, and took the others hostage, all to convict one woman of a crime she did not commit. The standard was serviceable – those of lower stations were usually held in the underground – but it didn’t seem to keep the good father calm one bit.

“Ah… the pagan princess.” He greeted Henrietta and her entourage with a tired sneer from behind the bars, his hair undone in a messy bird’s mane and his eyes still bloodshot. Most of his anger had long left him, but there was still plenty of malice to go around. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“I see your wit is as sharp as ever, Father Valencia.” If the princess was angry, she did not let it show, instead gently gesturing for bristling Agnes to settle down. Wardes remained as impassive as ever. Air galloping to Romalia and back in so short a time was no mean feat. “So sharp, you have yet to understand the gravity of the situation you were put in.”

“Incarcerated by those who would treat a witch with all due honors, yes. I’m quite perceptive.”

“Must we go through this song and dance again?” Before Valencia could gather enough force to start a tirade, Henrietta shook her head. “Actually, forget that. You’ll be pleased to know that I decided to write His Holiness in regard of your predicament, asking for his guidance. Viscount Wardes here personally delivered the missive to His Holiness’s retainers.” Prosecutor’s attempt at masking his perking up didn’t quite work out. “We were fortunate to receive his response immediately, signed by Cardinal Piazzini himself.”

“Is that right? Then I suppose there is yet good left in this barbaric country.” Agnes, unaware of contents of the return letter, had yet to figure out why Henrietta’s smile was unflinchingly polite to the point of condescension. The look of cold dominance on the princess’s face was utterly alien to the Chevalier. Wardes, ever the professional, remained impassive as he wordlessly handed over the letter to Henrietta. “That, I presume, is the response in question?”

“Shall I read it for you, Father Valencia?”

“By all means.” A moment of silence; the princess cleared her throat, her dainty fingers brushing the paper and the ornate capital letters used for the beginnings of paragraphs.

“We are humbled that Her Highness Princess Henrietta de Tristain would seek our advice regarding such a delicate conundrum. Unfortunately, we know of no priest, let alone a doctor of laws, from Romalia that goes by the name of Antonio Valencia.” The prosecutor blinked, then the epiphany struck him as color started leaving his face. Surely not…? “Judging by the vivid description of the happenings that occurred during the trial of one Siesta of Tarbes, we can safely say that no respectable man of cloth would stoop so low to such despicable behavior in any company, let alone one as distinguished as the Tristain elite with Her Highness at the helm. The gathered quorum’s opinion posited that this “Antonio Valencia” may in fact be a Reconquista subversive agent, deliberately posing as a priest of Brimir to undermine the good name of the Church and put our relations with Tristain in jeopardy.” Valencia gripped the bars, teeth bared in bestial fear. Henrietta was nonplussed, reading with the same even intonation, not even flinching when the panicking prosecutor reached from behind the bars to seize her – only to be stopped by Agnes’s iron hand painfully squeezing his fingers together, then shoving the stumbling priest back into his cell.

“In that regard, we leave the fate of this agent in capable hands of Tristain.” Henrietta kept on reading. “We know of Her Highness’s benevolence and kind heart, and so we would not be so audacious as to recommend that the agent be executed with extreme prejudice. Caution is advised: if this fake priest could fool Claudine the Carnage, there is little doubt he may still try to escape justice by pretending to be His noble servant. With those thoughts, we hope His Holiness’s answer is more than satisfactory. Sincerely, Cardinal of Toledo Alfonso Piazzini.”

Henrietta folded the letter and handed it back to Wardes, the same polite smile definitely looking helluva condescending to Agnes right now. “I trust you’re satisfied, Father?”

“T-t-t-this is a forged letter! His Holiness would never…!”

“You can have a look at the letter, if you so wish. I trust you would recognize both the classic Romalian calligraphy as well as Romalia’s official seal, as placed on this paper. Viscount Wardes?” The letter changed owners again, and soon Valencia found himself reading the very authentic and truthful account of him being thrown under a high-speed carriage. The paper slipped from his suddenly very stiff hands as the good father’s knees gave out and sent him kneeling on the ground in front of the young woman he so carelessly scorned, and who was now the sole person to decide his fate. One last thought crossed his mind however.

“The witch hunter! Y-you can ask her! She can confirm I’m…!”

“Even if she were to do that, her word means less than the word of a Cardinal, I’m sorry to say.” Henrietta smiled, but it was a smile so uncharacteristically devoid of compassion. “We already questioned her beforehand. She admitted to have been fooled by your clever disguise.”

“D-disguise?! I’m a priest of Brimir, n-not some dirty subversive! T-that’s an outrage, I-”

“ _You_ don’t get to have a say in anything anymore, Antonio Valencia.” The smile disappeared. The prosecutor shrunk on the floor, eyes going as wide as saucers, staring in horror at what he once thought was a demure sow who barely understood the world around her, content to smile and nod at the discretion of her advisers and Cardinal Mazarin, the ones in charge of the country.

Instead, he was staring at a queen of steel, an iron maiden as firm as she was unforgiving. “Your fate is in my hands. It is a high time you understood that fact.”

\----

Siesta was visited by an unusual guest in the evening.

Miss Montmorency came over to see how she was doing. At first the maid thought that this related to Guiche’s earlier visit and so dreaded the experience. After all, this whole situation she found herself in was a result of a misunderstanding born out of jealousy. The blonde noble did come to see her and discuss the topic of Guiche – but the conversation proved more mellow than Siesta would have expected.

“Given what Guiche had said, and the honesty of that statement, I will have to conclude that you are my rival.” Montmorency sighed. At least they could bond over the box of chocolates the blond heartthrob brought earlier. “You know him well, as does most of the school, staff or student. His escapades are common. Chronic, even.”

“I t-try not to peer too much into students’s life, Miss Montmorency.” The blonde gave her a mildly annoyed look before shaking her head.

“Still, you must have heard of something. Just like von Zerbst is known for her promiscuity around men, so is my Guiche known for chasing skirts. Still, these are flickers, mere sparks of infatuation that go away as fast they first appeared.” Monmon stopped, pondering what to say next. “With you, I’m afraid it could be something bigger and more genuine.”

“S-surely not, Miss Montmorency… I’m just a lowly maid...”

“You needn’t be so modest, princess of Albion. You gave him his health back and, by the order of Her Highness, are not a witch.” The blonde flinched slightly when saying the word. “And it’s my fault you ended up in this sorry situation in the first place. I’m guessing it was me calling you a witch in front of that knightess that started the whole thing.”

Siesta agreed with the assessment, but decided it would be more polite not to say that out loud. “Still, whether you are a princess or a commoner, I was planning to treat you the same way: as a rival.” The maid paled, but something in Montmorency’s expression put her at (cautious) ease. “If you wish to compete for Guiche, then I shall take you up on this challenge.”

“I, um… er...”

“But if you are going to be waffling on the matter” The blonde’s expression hardened. “then break his heart now and let it mend rather than breaking it much later and much worse. What is it going to be, Princess Siesta?” Oh dear. She wasn’t sure if she liked actually being called a princess. It was something of a shameful dream – but now that she was actually identified as a member of royalty by the lie of Prince Wales, if he was lying indeed – the sheer gravitas made her tremble.

Still, as she gazed at Montmorency and Montmorency gazed at her, her own expression slowly settled into a determined look. This was a fight worth fighting, she thought. An unspoken agreement replaced unbridled, one-sided anger. As far as Guiche was concerned, the two of them were now equals.

\----

“Gentlemen, thank you for your arrival.”

The seats in the Council Hall were all taken. Wales actually had to have one more chair delivered to him just so he wouldn’t stand around during the meeting. Naturally, his presence alone invited questions. The officials at the table were all experienced politicians and handlers, having served the princess’s father; a few of them venerable enough to even serve her long-dead grandfather. They knew their craft, but sat firmly in their beliefs and traditions.

To say a lot of them were displeased with the end result of the witch trial from earlier today would be an understatement. “Your Highness, may I ask why exactly Prince Wales is participating in the meeting?” Minister of Treasure Babaux idly stroked his grey beard, looking at the other monarch in the room. Wales offered an apologetic smile.

“Prince Wales is a representative of our staunch ally that is The Kingdom of Albion. I have utmost trust in him.” Something was different about this Henrietta. It was as if the witch trial itself cast a spell on her and changed her, in the opinion of the reigning lords, for the worse. “Or do you think my assessment is incorrect, Marquis?”

“Certainly not, Your Highness.” Minister of Culture Dupont filled in for his colleague with an inoffensive, emotionless smile. “We are simply unused to such, shall I say, unusual changes to the formula of these meetings. In fact, this is, I believe, the first time you requested a High Council meeting since the passing of His Highness.”

“I had something of grave importance that I wished to announce. It was a matter previously discussed with Cardinal Mazarin” Here she gestured towards the old clergyman who nodded slightly in response “and touches upon Tristain as a country.”

“A big statement.” Chief General Du Poitiers, affectionately referred to as Bowachi, stroked his impressive mustache in thought. “And am I correct in assuming this relates to the witch trial of Siesta of Tarbes, yes?” Henrietta merely offered a slight, mirthless smile in response.

“With all due respect, was it wise to disagree with Prosecutor Valencia’s assessment?” Minister of Commerce Donbury asked, shifting on his seat. “His behavior was nothing short of appalling, but it isn’t as if his point wasn’t sound.”

“Do you not find the defense of Éléonore de la Vallière’s adequate?”

“I never said that, Your Highness.” A moment of silence. The ministers looked between each other, clearly not sure what to make of this new, decisive Henrietta. It was as if something possessed her. No one dared say something like that out loud, naturally. Their job was to support the monarch, not to undermine them. Of course, if circumstances pointed towards said monarch’s inability to effectively rule, The High Council could have such a figure steered towards self-improvement.

“Either way, I trust all of you watched the trial in question.” The ministers nodded at varying intervals. Agnes, standing by Henrietta’s seat, refused the urge to roll her eyes. “Having proceeded over it, it opened my eyes to a particular problem that applies not just to Tristain, but perhaps to all Brimiric Nations as well.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“All of us in this room agree that The Church of Brimir is the dominant faith in Tristain, let alone all of Helkeginia, correct?”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, Brimiric Faith is the only faith.” Minister Dupont raised an eyebrow. “There is the elven faith, explicitly stated as humbug, and then there are various pagan rituals, offensive to the good name of all peoples of Helkeginia.”

“Not anymore, Minister.” Henrietta’s lips quirked in a smile as she rose from her seat. There was scarcely any of that demure princess they all knew and loved steering appropriately. “By royal decree, I announce as thus: Tristain shall be the first of Brimiric Nations to practice religious tolerance. As long as no harm comes upon the others, my subjects will be able to worship whatever they desire. Siesta of Tarbes’s witchcraft trial was the first and the last that we’ll have here.”

The moment the princess sat down, the room erupted in voices of ministers, ranging from confused protests to outright outrage. Among all this sat Prince Wales, amazed at the finality of his dear cousin’s words. A controversial statement, no doubt. “We greatly discourage such an idea!” Minister Babaux stated firmly, but his voice – still shaken from the sheer audacity of the revelation – didn’t give him much authority.

“I’m well-aware. I’m not asking for advice, merely informing you as faithful servants of the Crown.” Henrietta smiled mirthlessly.

“Cardinal Mazarin approved this?! That seems highly unlikely!”

“I did.” The wizened clergyman nodded in confirmation, having spoken for the first time since the meeting started. “It is my belief that faith should expand to protect even those who do not believe. Tristain being the first to propose such an idea is easier to swallow than Gallia or Albion, if it could.”

“How… how do you figure, Cardinal?”

“I believe it will be perceived less as a power move of a hungry tyrant, but rather a wise step by a young monarch who, above all else, wishes for the safety and well-being of her subjects.”

“Does Romalia know…?”

“Romalia’s representative committed a great disservice to Tristain.” Henrietta’s face was impassive. “Let it be understood that this is not a gesture of rebellion however. Rather, I am taking this step myself, towards the brighter future of the country I was cast to rule.”

“If your judgment is incorrect, Your Highness, Your Eminence...” General Du Poitiers was the one official who did not appear incensed at the announcement, even if his brows were firmly furrowed. “then we have to expect war, either from Romalia or those who would curry her favor. Are you prepared for that?”

“I have thought about the possibility. We wouldn’t have to entertain the notion if Albion were disposed…”

“But it isn’t!” Minister Dupont threw his hands up in the air. “This entire thing is a farce, Your Highness! We should reconsider-”

“Enough reconsidering!” The princess’s hand slammed down on the desk, silencing the entire room. Agnes raised an eyebrow, idly taking in the shock of the officials before her. “Gentlemen, as an ancient ally of Albion we are more than obliged to help it recover.” Henrietta smiled and looked over to Wales. “And to that end, I’d like to ask our specialist regarding Albion and the Reconquista… what can be done to rout the rebels once and for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while since the last chapter came out. Between studies, RPG Maker taking most of my creativity, and a general dearth of ideas, I’m not quite satisfied with this chapter. Still, this should be the last one to contain so much politics – hopefully we can move on to more action-y stuff henceforth.


End file.
